


For Your Entertainment

by Blue_Iris



Series: For Your Entertainment AU [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, Genderfluid Character, Hetalia Kink Meme, I'm back, M/M, Other, Prostitution, and now on AO3, flashbacks to underage sex, if anyone cares, lol, shamless smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-28
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2017-12-03 20:59:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/702587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Iris/pseuds/Blue_Iris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Given their status as client and (male) prostitute, Elizabeth Kirkland and Alfred Jones shouldn't have gotten along so well. After all, she was just a writer of "adult literature" in dire need of research, and he was simply meant to be a consultant, nothing more. They were never supposed to become friends. And they certainly shouldn't have become so entangled in each other's lives—but it happened anyway, along with so much more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Client

**Chapter 1: The Client**

Her blood pounded in her ears as she got closer to the building. It was neither very tall, nor very short, and yet as she got closer, she couldn’t help the foreboding shiver that went up and down her spine. Even the innocent looking neon sign above the door, which glowed the name of the establishment in bright orange, with a sunflower curling under it, caused her mouth to go dry, because she knew for a fact that this place was anything  _but_  innocent. In fact, her conscience—which sounded eerily a lot like her ever moral parents (mostly her mother)—was screaming at her to go back to her car and drive back to her uptown flat, where it was nice and safe from an underworld full of debauchery.

But she had a job to do, she resolved with herself, and she intended to follow through with it, no matter what.

She showed her I.D. to the bouncer at the door, who examined it briefly before nodding towards the building. She walked down one flight stairs and turned left to face the real entrance into the place. She took a few steps inside and paused to observe her surroundings with her wide green eyes.

She took in the…employees garbed in tight, mostly dark clothes that ranged in size, depending on the gender of the person. Many of the women were wearing short dresses, or short skirts, while the men were wearing leather pants, jeans, and tight t-shirts or loose tunics (though some younger ones—teenagers, she thought—were wearing leather shorts that showed off just enough leg to entice). As for footwear, once again, it ranged from gender to gender; some of the women were wearing either knee-high leather boots with high heels, or just regular high heels, while the men wore either sneakers or dress shoes.

She watched as the employees flirted with their customers, buying or being bought drinks and laughing over some miscellaneous subject that would most likely be forgotten as the night went on. She watched and felt the burn of eyes on her as she watched—eyes that knew she hadn’t been to such a place before, that she was just a little too  _vulnerable_  to be in such an environment…eyes that felt like wolves scrutinizing a lost rabbit before pouncing…

The simile caused a shiver to go up her spine—not in curiosity, or anticipation, or some rubbish like that! …But it wasn’t fear, either!

After all, she was Elizabeth Rose Kirkland, and if there was anything useful her messed up brothers had taught her, it was that a Kirkland was capable of handling whatever was thrown their way.

And if this particular Kirkland could write a little story of two men fucking each other senseless without blushing (at least, not too much), then by the Queen, she can most certainly stand her ground while interacting with male prostitutes.

Elizabeth took a deep breath and stood up straight, grasping the purse hanging on her shoulder, and she proceeded towards the bar.

* * *

That Friday, it was business as usual in  _Sunflower Heaven_ , the local brothel belonging to a certain Ivan Braginski. People came in, sat in the bar, listened to the music, and were almost immediately approached by whoever needed work for the night. Whether the clients were men or women, it rarely mattered to the worker. They needed to eat (and possibly fulfill other hungers), and in their profession, money often didn’t last long.

Sometimes, when the potential customer didn’t reject their obvious offer, the employees would offer them a dance that would no doubt be a provocative style—just to get the client going enough to desire them for that night. Most of the time, however, the client would offer the person a drink, and the business transaction would go on from there. It was a predictable scene in a place such as this, where lonely, and obviously horny, men and women walked in and bought some company for a few hours in the night—perhaps even for the whole night.

Needless to say, Alfred F. Jones was dying of boredom.

“Oh my fucking God, Francis, I’m sooo bored! Entertain me, please, or I’ll die.”

“Ah, yes, what a tragedy that would be.” The addressed man chuckled and sipped his glass of red wine.

“Dude, I’m serious. There’s absolutely nothing tonight!” Alfred exclaimed as he observed the fray of clientele from the second floor, leaning his arms on the railing.

“Now,  _mon ami_ , that is not true,” Francis grinned as he nodded downwards. “After all, there’s your old friend down there. What was his name? Something Thompson?”

“No, thanks.” The younger man shuddered at the mention of his regular. “I need at least one night where I don’t have to scream out, ‘Oh, yes, Daddy, right there’.”

“Well, what about that couple that always comes in on Fridays?”

“Roderich and Elizaveta?” Alfred contemplated for a moment, and then made a face. “I won’t lie, Roderich’s got a pretty nice ass, but…it’s really weird to do it with his wife watching with a camera in her hand.”

Francis hummed, and then nodded in agreement. “True.” His dark blue eyes glanced at his colleague with a hint of worry. “But you’ll have to go down there and get work eventually. You know what will happen if you don’t.”

Alfred’s frown deepened as he glared straight ahead, his eyes glazed and unseeing.

He sighed. “I know.”

Then he stood up straight and put his hands in his pants pockets. He blinked and looked around the room, searching for the client who would be the most likely to give him a full pay, when a movement near the entrance caught his eye, coaxing him to direct his curious gaze towards the source.

She looked young that much was certain, but the clothes she wore hinted that she was probably older—or trying to look like she was. She wore a buttoned up beige business jacket over a white blouse and a matching skirt that went down to her knees. This disappointed Alfred slightly; he was a bit of a leg man—but he supposed that the fact that the woman’s tights accentuated her calves made up for it.

Then there were also the eyebrows hovering over her eyes. They were thicker than an average woman, to the point that Alfred initially thought them to be caterpillars until he looked more closely. They were off-putting and cringe worthy, but, once again, Alfred quickly discovered a feature of hers that made up for any negative traits: her eyes. They were the most vibrant shade of green he had ever seen, perfectly placed on a face that was framed by sandy blonde hair that fell over her shoulders, making her look almost like a doll. They were so wide and expressive, briefly revealing the storm of vulnerable emotions she was feeling, before going steely and determined as she walked inside and took a seat at the bar.

This only stoked Alfred’s curiosity more. It was plain to see that the young woman felt out of place here, and yet she was actually here. She didn’t even look like the type to hire a prostitute (then again, a lot of people don’t, but that’s beside the point). She seemed more like the kind of girl who would want to date a guy, marry him, and then have a happily ever after consisting of a house, 2.5 children, a puppy, and a white picket fence.

Yes, Alfred, local manwhore, believed in the American dream, or at least, he believed that it was achieved by “normal” people. He’d learned long ago that many people in his profession just weren’t that blessed, which is pretty much the reason why he’s given up on it.

But damn it, that didn’t mean that it was impossible for anyone else, right?

“ _Ooh, la,la_.”

Alfred blinked at the Francis’s lustful purr and glanced over to see that the Frenchman was leering down at Little Miss Eyebrows (what he’d decided to call her in his head until otherwise).

“It seems a little lost lamb is in search of some…guidance,” Francis chuckled as he wagged his eyebrows slyly.

“Hey, man, I saw her first,” Alfred protested, though the playful smirk on his face spoke otherwise. He wasn’t really all that upset; he actually wanted to watch and see what would happen.

“ _Pardon, mon ami_ , but I called—eh, how do you Americans say it? Ah, first dibs.” As he downed the rest of his wine, he tapped his younger friend on the shoulder and added, “I’ll see if I can try to convince her to involve a fourth participant, qui?”

“Okay. Thanks, Francis.”  _Though I doubt she’s that type of girl…_

Alfred watched as Francis nodded at his two friends and fellow workers, Antonio Hernandez Carriedo and Gilbert Beilschmidt, who were both in the back, having a hushed conversation. When they both saw Francis gesture downstairs, Antonio blinked blankly, then smiled, while Gilbert just smirked widely. Then they both strode over to step in on either side of him, and proceeded downstairs. Alfred watched the three of them with an amused glint in his eye as he propped his chin on his palm, still leaning lightly on the rail.

_And so the Bad Touch Trio appears._

The Bad Touch Trio was a bit of a legend not just in Ivan’s brothel, but also around the area as well. Apparently, the story was that the three of them had started walking the corners when they’d been teenagers, sixteen most would say, but it was a job that had brought them together. One night, a rather wealthy politician (so they say) had driven around the corners and picked the three of them to spend the night with. Not much is known what happened that night; a lot of people have different versions of what happened, but the truth was still a well-kept secret kept between the three prostitutes. All anyone really knows is that  _something_  had been solidified between the three of them that night—something that only grew as they did.

From then on, the three young men took it upon themselves to watch each other’s back. They mostly took their jobs together, calling it a “three for one special” whenever customers asked. Sure, it was often that one of them would go on a job alone, but it was always with the knowledge that the one or both of his friends would follow the car and make sure they would be safe. Because the last time one of them went it alone (Antonio, most of the stories say)…bad things happened—bad things that had resulted in bad things happening to the customer who caused them. No one messed with them after that.

Of course, this is all really just gossip from the streets, but it was all either Alfred or anyone else had to go on for now, because neither of those infamous three were willing to talk.

And now, those mysterious three were headed straight for the equally mysterious young woman.

Alfred smirked. This was going to be interesting.

* * *

“Hey, Mama,” a Hispanic voice crooned near her ear. “You wanna have some fun tonight?”

Startled, Elizabeth looked up from the chardonnay she’d ordered to see three men surrounding her. The one in the middle had blond, chin-length hair, a light stubble on his chin, and cobalt blue eyes glinting with amusement. The one on his left had skin as pale as snow; equally pale hair that flashed silver, and almost demonic red eyes that seemed to match the leer curling his lips. The one on the right, the shortest by a few inches, and obviously the one who had spoken, had tan skin, green eyes, and a wide, friendly smile, despite the seductive tone in his voice.

At her blank look, the blonde in the middle smiled.

“Ah, it is such a pleasure,  _non_ , an  _honor_  to come across such a beautiful flower among such weeds,” he said smoothly in his deep, seductive French accent. He bowed and took her hand in his, bringing it up so he could brush his lips against her knuckles. “Mademoiselle, forgive me and my friends for intruding, but please know that it would be the greatest honor for us to please you. We are at your complete and total mercy.”

Elizabeth balked at the gesture, not only because of the way the man acted, but, well:

_Oh, God, he’s French._

“If you want, mon cher, you could have your choice of either one of us, or all of us—all for a reasonable price of one hundred-fifty dollars per session.”

The other man nodded in agreement and added in a raspy voice, “If you take our offer, then trust me, you will have the most awesome night of your life.”

She blinked and looked at the three men for a moment—and then:

“No, thank you.”

The men blinked at the unexpected rejection and watched as she turned back to her drink. It was rare that either of the Bad Touch Trio got rejected. While it didn’t really bother Gilbert and Antonio, Francis looked like his entire world fell apart.

“WHAT?” he cried. “M-m-mais  _pourqoui_ , ma chérie?” ( **B-b-but why, my dear?** )

“Because I’m not in the mood to have frog tonight,” Elizabeth deadpanned as she lifted her chardonnay to sip, “Nor will I ever be, I expect.”

Francis’s jaw slacked open as he stared at her in shock. Then, with tears gathering in the corner of his eyes, he turned to Antonio, wrapped his arms around him, and buried his face against the tan neck, releasing sobs of dejection, consisting of despaired French. Instead of pushing him off, Antonio smiled and patted his friend comfortingly on the shoulder.

“ _Ta bueno_ ,  _ta bueno_ , Francis,” he said. “It’s okay.”

“That’s not going to work.” She smirked knowingly at the despaired man.

He then stiffened and scowled. He separated from Antonio and glared at the woman, allowing his growing dislike (one that had sprung up when he heard her British accent) for her to show openly—there was no point in hiding it anymore. He cross his arms over his chest and leaned on his left leg, jutting his hip out.

“Well, then,  _rosbif_ ,” Francis sneered. “What are you here for, pray tell?”

Elizabeth twitched at the insult, but managed to remain composed. “I’m actually here to see Mr. Braginski.”

Gilbert tensed and his eyes narrowed. “Why do you need to see  _him_?”

“I need to ask him something about his…men.”

“What sort of ‘something’?” Antonio tilted his head curiously.

“Well, you see, I need help with this job I’m doing,” she flushed slightly. “And I’m looking for a particular man to help—and, no offense, but you blokes don’t fit the standards I have in mind.”

The three men stared at her blankly for a moment, and then Antonio stepped forward, beaming.

“Okay, I’ll take you to him.” He looked back at his two friends, “I’ll be right back, okay,  _mi_   _amigos_?”

Francis smiled and nodded, while Gilbert shrugged.

Antonio smiled down at Elizabeth and proceeded to lead her to the back of the room, to an entrance that was covered by a door made up of beads and strings. They went through the beads and started walking down a seemingly long hallway consisting of doors on each side. As she walked, Elizabeth’s ears picked up the muffled sounds of moans and bouncing bedsprings from behind some doors, and she blushed profusely.

Looking completely composed (he was used to it, after all), Antonio smiled down at her apologetically.

“These are the back rooms, where some of us live,” he explained. “Usually our customers like to go to hotels, or just do it in an alleyway. But when they really can’t wait, they come back here for it, though it costs them extra.”

“I-I see,” she replied, trying to ignore the lewd sounds and activities happening in the rooms around her.

“Don’t worry, though, we’re almost there.”

Finally, they stopped in front of a door with gold letters on it, the initials of the owner of the brothel.

Almost immediately, Antonio’s expression morphed into a serious one as he stared down at Elizabeth.

“Now, I’m not sure what ‘job’ you’re doing, but be sure to be careful,  _senorita_ ,” he warned. “Though Ivan is most certainly not the worst in this city, he can still be a little rough to deal with, especially if he gets mad.

“So, whatever you do, make sure to be polite, okay.”

Elizabeth nodded, her eyes firm.

Antonio looked at her for a moment, and then he nodded. He turned around and knocked on the door three times.

“Who is it?”

“It’s me, Antonio, sir,” he replied. “I have someone asking for you.”

“…All right, just give me a minute.” There was a bit of rustling from the other side, and then, “Come in.”

Antonio then turned the knob and pushed the door open, revealing a pale man with light blonde hair and violet colored eyes sitting behind an ornate mahogany desk. Standing right beside him was an androgynous looking (though Elizabeth assumed it was a man) Asian in a long Chinese style tunic and pants, who, for some reason, was wiping his mouth with a light blush on his pale cheeks.

Antonio nodded for Elizabeth to go inside and offered her one last smile before closing the door, leaving her alone with the two strangers. The man at the desk smiled at her in a way that gave her chills. There was just  _something_  about it…

“Good evening, I am Ivan Braginski,” he introduced, his Russian accent seeping through. “Is there any way I can be of service, Miss…”

“Kirkland,” she added. “Just Miss Kirkland.”

Ivan nodded. “All right, Miss Kirkland. What is it you need to speak to me about?”

“Yes. I’m here to request one of your workers.”

“Ah, I see. Please, sit down. It’ll help us to see each other better.”

 _Or it will make you look more intimidating than before_ , she thought to herself as she sat in the chair in front of the desk. It felt lower compared to Braginski’s chair, and that just made the man seem to stare her down like he wanted to see right through her.

He snapped his fingers at the Chinese man, who promptly brought out a pad and a pen that he quickly handed to him.

“Now, are you looking for a particular person in mind?” Ivan asked, eyeing her again.

“Well, it’s not as if I know them or anything,” said Elizabeth. “But I’m looking for one with specific traits I need.”

Ivan hummed and nodded, his pen hovering over the paper. “Just name them.”

“Well, to start, they must be male.”

“Do you have a certain type in mind?”

“American, preferably. Or he must have a pretty convincing American accent.”

He smiled. “We have a lot of Americans here. Could you be more specific?”

Elizabeth thought for a moment and blushed, for a reason that eluded her.  _(Damn it, I’m just doing research!)_

“Tall,” she said softly. “Perhaps a bit of a build, also.”

Ivan smirked slightly as he made a note, and then he looked at her.

“May I ask what sort of job you’re requesting such a worker for?”

“Is it necessary for you to know?”

“Miss Kirkland, you must understand my position here,” he reasoned. “Many of the clients who come here and force my employees to engage in activities that can be…dangerous, and they have no qualms with leaving scars.

“I just want to make sure that my merchandise won’t be threatened.”

Elizabeth winced inwardly. She really didn’t like the idea of referring people, no matter what profession, as “merchandise”.

“I’m doing some…research,” she said tentatively. “I won’t ask for any personal information or anything. I won’t even use any real names for my work. I just want to get a basis for my project.”

“I see. And this ‘research’ will last how long?”

“I’m not certain, yet, but it should last for at least a month, if not longer. Whatever amount of time it takes for me to get a solid foreground.”

“And the pay?”

“Three hundred for each night.” At the look she received, Elizabeth added, “Money isn’t an object, sir.”

 _You’d be amazed at how well writing porn can pay_ , she thought to herself.  _It almost makes the guilt worthwhile._

Ivan studied her for a few more moments, and then he smiled widely. “Well, while it’s pretty vague, I’ll definitely honor your request. You seem like an honest person anyway, so I’m sure I don’t have anything to worry about.

“Luckily for you, I have the perfect employee in mind,” he clapped his hands childishly. “I’ll give him a call, be right back.”

With that said, Ivan stood up, pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed a number. After a moment, his smile—that odd, slightly broken looking smile—brightened, and he started to walk out of the room to talk more privately.

“Da, it’s me,” he crooned as he walked out. “I have a job, for you~”

Once he was out, Elizabeth allowed herself to let out the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. Damn, that Russian was scary—then again, this whole situation was a little frightening. She propped her hand on the chair’s armrest and leaned her forehead on it, trying to will herself to calm down.

“You all right?” The Chinese man asked suddenly.

“Oh, I’m just smashing. I’ve officially made my entire Catholic school upbringing for naught, I’m having a bit of a heart attack and possibly a mental breakdown, and I’m absolutely  _smashing_.” She shook her head, “Dear Lord, I need a drink.”

The man smiled with amusement. “You’ll get used to it.”

Five minutes later, the door opened again to reveal a beaming Ivan.

“Today’s your lucky day, Miss Kirkland,” the Russian announced. “May I introduce to you…”

He took a side-step to reveal the young man standing behind him. A tall young man with gold blonde hair, sky blue eyes covered by a pair of glasses, and a brilliant smile that seemed to rival the sun. He wore a tight black t-shirt and a pair of denim jeans, both of which accentuating and showing off lean, solid muscles that weren’t quite Adonis-like, but they were pretty damn close.

“Alfred Jones,” Ivan finished, gesturing at said young man, then back at her. “Alfred, this is Miss Kirkland.”

Alfred’s smile widened as he bowed his head in greeting. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Kirkland.”

Elizabeth’s jaw then took that chance to go slack.


	2. First Night

**Chapter 2: First Night**

Though she hadn’t written the first draft of her story yet, Elizabeth already had an outline of it in her head. Most people weren’t fans of porn with plot, but she personally felt that a little plot with one’s porn made it all the better. This was why she always took the time and effort to write her stories with engaging storylines (even if it was only background information), as well as pretty well-rounded characters. That was her favorite part of the writing process, the creation of a character. It was almost like having a child; a child that’s obviously of legal age in order to engage in sexual activities, but a child none-the-less. She always had a picture perfect view of what her characters would look like, what their voices sounded like, and how their personality would develop from beginning to end.

So, needless to say, Elizabeth already had an image and profile of her main character in her head.

_Oh—oh, my God._

And when she saw Alfred F. Jones for the first time, heard his voice—which wasn’t too deep, but just enough to send a pleasurable shiver down her spine—it was as if the man inside her head had come to life.

_He…he’s perfect._

Meanwhile, Alfred blinked in bemusement as the woman continued to stare at him with a sense of awe. Granted, he knew how good-looking he was ( _Psh, more like fucking hot, hahaha_ ), but no one’s ever been speechless for as long as this woman had. And…was that a blush on her cheeks?

 _Dude, I didn’t even have to try._  He smiled slightly.  _This is totally gonna be cake._

Alfred could already smell those three hundred, as if they were flowers held up to his nostrils to test their aroma. Maybe if he was extra good in helping with her research, he’d get a little extra spare cash to save in his pocket.

 _Ha, research! That’s a good one._  When Ivan had told him that Miss Kirkland (which was probably not her real name anyway) had requested him to engage in an act of “research”, Alfred had actually laughed in the man’s face. Really, why couldn’t these people just come out and say it. There was no reason to be embarrassed; they were just two little words:  _“Let’s fuck.”_

But people are like that sometimes, Alfred knew. It sort of annoyed him though, as much as it amused him, but he wouldn’t push it with this Miss Kirkland. Besides, it would probably be fun.

 _…And she’s still staring_ , he noted, feeling a chuckle of amusement rise.  _I should probably wake her up or something. She kinda looks cute like that, but, still, I’ve got a job to do._

He quickly morphed his expression into one of concern, tiling his head just the slightest, just to add an innocent touch.

“Miss Kirkland,” Alfred spoke as he leaned down to poke her forehead gently. “You okay?”

Elizabeth blinked a few times and then blushed, realizing that she’d been caught in her obnoxious staring. Her mouth formed into a scowl and pushed his hand away from her head.

“Yes, I’m fine.” She looked at him for a few moments, and then at Ivan. “He’ll do,” she said, her tone nonchalant.

Ivan smiled. “That’s good.”

Elizabeth then stood up from her seat, her back erect, and glanced at Alfred.

“You ready to go? My car’s outside.”

“Sure, whenever you are.” He shrugged.

She stared at him, and then nodded to herself before walking out of the room. Alfred almost immediately followed her, smirking slightly as the door closed behind them.

The room was silent for a moment before Yao decided to speak.

“That’s rather odd of you, Ivan, giving Alfred such a job.” When the taller man was silent, he added, “I mean, you always seem to prevent him from getting any closer to repaying his debt, so it’s a little strange.”

Ivan blinked, and then smiled. “Is it? I didn’t really think so. I just did it without thinking, really.”

Somehow, Yao highly doubted that very much.

“Besides, I’m interested in what might happen.”

…Yeah, that sounded more like the Ivan he knew.

Yao quirked an eyebrow. “What are you expecting to happen?”

His boss glanced up at the ceiling and hummed thoughtfully, and then he shrugged before proceeding back to his chair.

“Not sure, to be honest,” he replied, taking his seat. “But I have a feeling it will be an interesting experience.”

 _Aiya_ , Yao sighed.  _I don’t know how much I can take with this man and his weird moods, aru. I swear, one minute he acts like a child, and the next…_

“But I’m done talking about that now.”

He blinked at Ivan’s tone and looked over to see the man smirking widely at him, his violet eyes glinting with a hunger that was uncharacteristically hot in his usually cold eyes. Ivan leaned back in his chair and rolled it back a few feet away from his desk, his devilish smirk never moving from his face.

“Right now, I want you to get back on your knees, dearest Yao. You understand, da?”

The purr was like a caress against his skin, another trait that was uncharacteristic of the Russian pimp. Yao could a shiver go down his spine, one that was born out of a mixture of fear and anticipation, and his pulse raced.

“Yes, Vany—I mean, sir. I understand.”

* * *

“So, how do you wanna do this?”

Elizabeth’s nerves were still racking as she drove away from  _Sunflower Heaven_ , and Alfred’s question just made it worse.

“We’re going back to my place,” she replied, trying to sound calm, despite her voice coming out tight.

Alfred blinked. “You sure?”

“Yes, unless you would prefer to go somewhere else.”

“No, that’s okay.” He just hadn’t expected it, really. It wasn’t that it was uncommon. It’s just that most clients, usually the married type, would prefer to go somewhere else, where no one they knew would either see them or recognize them. They felt that it would ruin their reputation, or, in the case of the single clients, they didn’t want to be embarrassed in public over the fact that they had to pay someone to be with them.

The drive went on for about thirty or more minutes in what Elizabeth felt to be an awkward silence. Because, really, what do you say to the male prostitute you hired in order to get a more thorough research about his profession? No good ice-breakers really come to mind, at least in her case.

Meanwhile, Alfred was trying to assess his client. As he’d contemplated previously, Miss Kirkland didn’t seem like the type of woman to hire a male escort, at least not on a daily basis. No matter what cold, almost professional front she put on, there were still glimpses of her skittishness shining through the cracks, as proven by the way her trembling hands grasped the steering wheel. It made him wonder what she was really like under the mask. It also made him wonder what sort of sex she would enjoy.

“So, are we gonna talk at all?” he asked, when they stopped at a red light.

Elizabeth stiffened and stayed silent.

“Okay, that’s cool.”

Her shoulders slumped as she sighed. “I’m sorry if I seem rude. I’m just…thinking, that’s all.”

“Aw, that’s not a problem. Besides, I understand.” Alfred gave her a friendly smile. “You haven’t done this before, right?”

Elizabeth swallowed and shifted her gaze to the side, trying not to look at her passenger.

“Is it…that obvious?”

“Just a little.”

As the light turned green, she automatically pressed lightly on the gas and turned left to get to her building. As she did, she couldn’t help but stew in her thoughts.

_Brilliant. He probably thinks that I’m some blushing virgin or something…which I guess I am, technically speaking._

She flushed,  _Not that I want to…impress him or anything! It’s just research for a story, and he’s just a prostitute who will help in that research. Right._

_Still, there’s no reason for him to look so…so…_

Elizabeth glanced at Alfred from the corner of her eye. He was currently sitting back in her seat in an almost lazy, his hands in the pockets of his brown bomber jacket (which had a fifty on the back and a gold star on the breast). His blue eyes were staring ahead of him, looking clouded with thought, as he slowly brought one hand out to thread through his hair, tilting his head back and revealing more of that strong, perfectly tanned neck…

She bit her lip and darted her eyes ahead, her cheeks flushing with shame.  _Bloody hell…_

She didn’t notice how those blue eyes she’d admired narrowed slyly as Alfred smirked.

_Oh, yeah. This is totally in the bag._

* * *

“So, this is it,” Elizabeth announced when she entered her flat and locked the door. As she removed her shoes, she looked over at Alfred, who was surveying his surroundings curiously. “Be sure to take off your shoes and leave them near the door. My roommate likes to keep the floor clean.”

Alfred nodded and obediently pulled his feet out of his boots, placing them right by his client’s shoes.

“You have a roommate?” he asked. “Where are they?”

“She went out for the night, to this art gallery in the city,” replied Elizabeth, before she looked at him thoughtfully. “You can take off your coat, you know. You’re going to be here a while, so you might as well make yourself at home.”

Alfred blinked, and then he removed his jacket and draped it over a chair near the door. Elizabeth looked at him for a moment, and then glanced into the kitchen, which was on the left side of the door, before looking back at him again.

“Would you like something to eat? I’d cook, but…”

 _…The stove is still broken_ , she remembered with a slight cringe.  _Not that_  I  _had anything to do with it, of course! Bloody American thing just couldn’t handle my amazing British cooking skills. Yes._

“…But our stove isn’t working right now,” she finished, and then smiled politely. “I’m sure we have something in our fridge, though.”

“Anything you’ve got is fine, really.” He shrugged nonchalantly, even though he was really doing a victory dance inside his head, grinning like a maniac.

_Dude, free food! I think I’m gonna really like this one._

“All right, then,” Elizabeth said from the kitchen as she opened her fridge. “Let’s see, there’s some pudding, some leftovers, and…I think we have ice cream too—”

“I-ice cream?” Alfred exclaimed loudly, his blue eyes practically sparkling.

_Scratch out the “I think”, I like her already._

When he received an odd stare, one that consisted of Elizabeth’s brows furrowing over wary green eyes, Alfred quickly composed himself back into the cool and collected gigolo he totally was.

“I mean, ice cream,” he shrugged. “That’s cool. What flavor?”

“Um,” Elizabeth tentatively checked the freezer and frowned slightly, “Coffee, I think.”

Alfred could have cried right then and there.

_…This woman is a fucking saint._

“All right, I’ll take it.”

He tried to remain calm and smooth, but once he swallowed a spoonful of the sugary delight, Alfred practically melted inside. It probably showed on his face how much of an addict he was, but damn it, he didn’t care. He hadn’t had ice cream in a while. It was often too expensive to buy the brand he liked (especially in the amounts he preferred to stack in his fridge), so he made sure to savor this moment, because he wasn’t sure when he’d ever get his next chance.

Meanwhile, Elizabeth had an eyebrow raised as her eyes lit up with slight amusement.

 _For the love of God, it’s only ice cream_ , she thought to herself.  _I really don’t get the big deal about it. Then again, I’m not usually the sweets fan here…_

“Is it all right if we move to the living room? I have some questions I need to ask you, if you don’t mind.”

Alfred nodded enthusiastically, holding the ice-cream filled bowl to him almost protectively, and he followed her into the room that was across the entrance. It was a standard living room; it had four plain white walls, a couch that was a light shade of purple (located on the left), a dark, wooden coffee table in front of it, a burgundy couch chair and a matching ottoman (adjacent to the couch), and a television set in front of the furniture. When Alfred looked closer, he noticed that on the far side, near the window, there was also a work desk with a laptop, with a small bookshelf right next to it.

Elizabeth noted where he was looking and smiled, looking almost proud. “That’s where I do most of my work.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m a writer.” Pause. “Sort of.”

Alfred raised an eyebrow at that, to which Elizabeth sighed. “It’s a long story, and well, I’ll explain in a minute. Please, take a seat.” She gestured toward the couch.

The young man sat down on the couch and watched as the petite woman sat down in the red chair.

Elizabeth took a deep breath and crossed her ankles before locking eyes with Alfred.

“Mr. Jones, have you ever heard of an erotica author named ERIKU?”

Alfred blinked. The name rang a bell, but he couldn’t recall actually reading anything by the author. Though he knew fellow co-workers who were, he personally wasn’t really a fan of erotica. The whole romanticizing of sex in general just didn’t make sense to him anymore. After all, he was a prostitute; sex was his life. And he’d learned long ago that that rose tinted view of the act was something only reserved for fiction. He knew that view was a bit cynical, and when he’d talk about it conversation, he probably would come off as a bitter person—but the truth didn’t bother him, really. It was more the fact that writers tended to advertise the fictional, romantic part of sex as a part of real life that really bugged him.

Especially those stories featuring prostitutes falling in love with their client. ( _Ugh._ ) If he had the time, Alfred could probably go on a whole rant about the subject—but he wasn’t going to go into it here.

Suddenly, he remembered hearing something about ERIKU from his friend Feliciano…

“That’s the guy who wrote that story about the sky pirate and the military pilot, right?” he asked. “In some steampunk world or whatever.*”

Elizabeth’s face brightened, stunning Alfred for a moment as she nodded vigorously. “That’s right!”

_God, I loved writing that one! I had a whole world and characters planned, and oh my Lord, it was going to be such an epic novel full of romance, pirates, soldiers, drama, science fiction elements, **battles in the sky**!…But—_

Her eyes dimmed slightly.  _My editor wanted PWP instead._

_…But it was still bloody good, if I do say so myself. (Hee, pirates…)_

“Well,” she cleared her throat, composing herself again. “What readers don’t know is that ERIKU is actually a two-woman team. One woman is the illustrator for the stories. Occasionally, she’ll draw out a comic sequence of certain scenes. The other woman is the writer.”

Alfred stared at her with a blank look as he took another spoonful of ice cream.

“And…this has to do with us having sex,  _how_?”

Elizabeth spluttered, her cheeks reddening. “W-w-what?”

“Are we supposed to role-play the stories or something?” Alfred continued, oblivious to her discomfort. “Because I should let you know now, I haven’t read any of this guy’s work. I only know it because my friend is a huge fan, and…”

“NO!” she stood up and flailed her arms slightly, her eyes narrowed and cheeks flushed. “I didn’t hire you for sex! I’m only doing research…!”

“But what does that have to do with ERIKU?”

“Oh, for the love of God, my roommate and I  _are_  ERIKU!”

Much to her surprise, Alfred chuckled. “Okay, lady, I’ll play your game.”

Elizabeth crossed her arms and looked at him coldly. “What are you talking about?”

Instead of answering, Alfred just slowly removed his glasses, placed them on the coffee table, along with his precious ice cream, and then smirked back at her with darkened blue eyes. Then he stood up from the couch and walked slowly towards her, moving with all the grace of a cat, yet also stalking with the hunger of a lion. By the time he was standing in front of her, staring down at her with his slit-narrowed eyes, Elizabeth’s face looked like it would explode—both out of anger, and, well…

 _…Why is he so bloody tall? And he seems to be really muscular too! It’s not fair!_  She thought to herself, the rush of blood to her head preventing her from recalling that she herself had requested a man with those traits.

( _…Not that I find it attractive or anything. It’s just that it’s really…rude of him to use his physique to his advantage. That is not gentleman-like at all!_ )

Before she could splutter out expletives, or punch him, Elizabeth suddenly felt a pair of arms wrap around her waist and pull her flush against that warm, hard body, and,  _Oh, bugger_ …She then lowered her head down and stared off to the side with wide eyes. She didn’t dare look at him, even when she felt the man lean his head down and brush his lips against her ear. Her breath hitched.

“What’s wrong, Miss Kirkland?” Alfred’s silky voice sounded, almost innocently, as his right hand stroked up her back and gently cupped her jaw, stroking the soft skin.

“Don’t you wanna hear about how I please my female clients?”

Elizabeth let out a squeak as her heart jumped.

Alfred brushed his lips against a spot under her ear, and began dragging them down the skin, only parting every once in a while to speak.

“Usually…they want me to take them out on a date…make them feel special,” he said, his voice so soft it was almost a whisper. “And then, sometimes, we go back to their place…that’s when things get really… _intriguing_.”

As he started to move his soft kisses against her jaw, Elizabeth’s eyes fluttered and her lips parted slightly. Then she blinked and blushed, her mind finally having caught up with her body.

“S-st, um, w-wai—”  _Oh, of all the sodding times to have my tongue feel like lead!_  ”I-I’m not, it’s too—AH!”

In her (feeble) efforts in pushing Alfred away, Elizabeth lost her footing and, almost before she realized it, she was on lying flat on her couch—with Alfred kneeling above her, his legs and his hands braced on either side of her body.

“Damn, lady,” he laughed, his shoulders shaking slightly as a slight Southern accent seeped through. “Ya certainly work fast, don’t ya?”

“M-my name is  _not_ ‘lady’!” Elizabeth glared, and then blushed. “A-and this was most certainly not my intention—”

“Uh-huh, sure.” Alfred propped his chin on his hand, still staring down at her with an amused smirk. “You still wanna hear some ‘research’, right?”

“W-what—?”

“You know, a big part of society—mostly men—still seem to think that women don’t have a sexual bone in their body. Many husbands like to believe that, while they’re off getting their cocks sucked by back alley whores, their loving wives are at home waiting for them, remaining ever-so-faithful, sweet, and innocent.

“Of course, what they don’t know is that while they’re paying women—and men, in some cases—to release their tension, that little wife they hold on such a high pedestal is lying on her bed, having her needs satisfied by the very same people, people just like me.”

When he saw Elizabeth’s dubious look, Alfred smiled. “It’s true. One time, I think it was last year, I had this client who must have been at least bi, otherwise he wouldn’t have hired me. He’d talked about his wife, the woman who was ‘too good’ to deal with a cheater like him, who was addicted to warming his bed with almost everyone but the one he’d committed to. He’d even cried about it too, which just made the situation sadder. It’d be nice if, you know, he hadn’t gone through with fucking me.

“That Friday, a few days after my encounter with him, a woman hired me for the night. She’d said her husband had been cheating on her, that he wouldn’t touch her anymore, and that she needed some fulfillment that night. We went back to her house, and when I saw the pictures of her and her husband I knew— _she was the wife_.”

He laughed heartily. “Isn’t that just hilarious?”

Elizabeth blinked, and then glared. “Is there a point to this?”

“Oh, right, that.” Alfred cleared his throat and pulled on an expression worthy of a scientist. “The point is that, like men, women have their needs. Granted, a lot of their sexual desire can come from a rather emotional standpoint—they want to feel young again, desired, free, etc. However, a good handful of them are just like men; they’re looking for a good fuck. And, like most horny people, they’re  _very_ precise about how they want to be fucked.

“So, tell me, Miss Kirkland.” That wide, cat-like smirk returned. “How do  _you_  want it?”

The British woman blushed, and only got redder when Alfred brushed his thumb against her lower lip.

“Somehow, I don’t think you’d want just a fuck, though. No, I’m certain of it—I saw those romance novels on your shelf.”

He ran his thumb down from her lip to her chin, and then descended her neck slowly, almost savoring the feeling of that skin pulsing with heat, how heavy Elizabeth gulped out of nervousness. Alfred then paused and he took a good look at her face, taking in the dust of pink on her cheeks, and that odd glint that had developed in her eyes, somehow making that mesmerizing green look even brighter. His brows furrowed in thought.

“You want someone to make love to you,” he stated.

Elizabeth spluttered as her face glowed. “Wh-WHAT?”

“That’s what they call it, right?” Alfred tilted his head, looking almost doubtful. “It has the mechanics of fucking, but it’s also supposed to be an emotional experience between the two participants, from what I understand.”

Once again, this concept, the idea of romance and sex intertwined, kind of eluded him. After all, sex was sex, no matter how good. But it wasn’t as if he’d never been asked to do it before, and he’d always made sure to do what he could to bring such a client to their threshold of pleasure. So far, he hasn’t had any complaints.

“I just—that is—I-I, um— _WHAT_?”

“Am I wrong?” Feeling a little disappointed, he frowned, almost pouting. “I just figured, since you didn’t really seem the kind of woman who’d want it rough…”

“I didn’t hire you to have sex!” Completely flustered, Elizabeth pressed against his chest and tried to push him off. “Now, get off—”

The door was suddenly kicked open, stunning the both of them to snap their heads up to look.

A petite young woman of Japanese descent was kneeling on one knee and staring at the two—mostly Alfred—with narrow hard brown eyes and a scowl. She quickly reached behind her and pulled out something long, silver, and so sharp that it actually  _sang_ as it slid from its scabbard…

“Get your filthy hands off Elizabeth-san, if you know what’s good for you,” she said as she stood up and held her blade up, as if to fight.

Elizabeth was caught between happiness at seeing the familiar face, and the urge to facepalm, because somehow, she just knew this situation was going to get worse.

Meanwhile, Alfred blinked, his mind only registering one piece of information at a time:

_Hey, cute Asian girl._

Then:

_Holy, **shit**! Is that a samurai sword?_

A wide grin stretched across his face as his eyes got that odd, childish sparkle again. He practically leaped from his precarious position and eagerly stood in front of the wary woman, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet.

“That is a samurai sword! God, that’s so cool, and the quality’s really good, too! Dude, where’d you get it?”

The Japanese woman stared at him for a moment, and then blinked. When she slowly realized that the man wasn’t going to attack, but just continued on with his fanboyish worship of her sword, the cold look in her eyes dissipated into one of confusion, which showed openly as she stared.

“Nani…?”

She looked over at Elizabeth for answers, but the English woman was also staring at Alfred in stunned shock, one of her thick eyebrow twitching.

_Does this wanker have some split personality or something…?_

“Um…excuse me, but…who are you?”

Alfred took his eyes off the sword and grinned down at the Japanese woman.

“The name’s Alfred F. Jones, ma’am.” He winked one blue eye. “Please don’t ask what the F stands for.”

“My name is Kiku Honda.” She bowed her head cautiously.

“Nice to meet ya! Now, about that sword…”

“Um, sorry, I’d hate to be rude and interrupt, but,” Kiku said awkwardly. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh,” Alfred blinked, contemplating whether he should tell the truth. It would probably be humiliating for Miss Kirkland if he outright told her friend that she basically had to hire someone in order to get laid. And, call him what you want, but Alfred knew better than to embarrass a lady, at least to that degree. So he beamed and nodded at Elizabeth.

“I’m her boyfriend!”

Elizabeth’s face burned as her mouth gaped open. “ **WHAT?** ”

Kiku arched an eyebrow skeptically at the young man. “Her boyfriend.”

“Yup!”

She stared at him some more, and then blinked as a realization glinted in her brown eyes. Blushing slightly, Kiku looked over at Elizabeth.

“I-is he the-?”

The blonde woman pinched the bridge of her nose, her eyes closed. “Yes, Kiku, he is.”  _Unfortunately._

Kiku’s cheeks lit up, and she looked over at her friend and roommate. “B-but I thought you wouldn’t—!”

Elizabeth blushed brightly and she reached her hand out desperately. “N-no! It’s not-I mean-we didn’t… _It was a complete misunderstanding_!”

But Kiku was already turning around and walking back to the door. “…I think I’ll stay out for a little while longer. I still need to finish that portrait of Cleopatra-san*…I hope she won’t mind my intruding…”

“Kiku, wait-!”

When she opened the door, she looked back at Elizabeth with disappointment as she shook her head.

“I’m sorry, but I feel…conflicted at this discovery. I mean, I knew you were pretty ambitious when it came to your work, but I never thought you’d go so far,” she said, her eyes actually tearing up for dramatic effect. “I feel as if I don’t  _know_  you anymore, Elizabeth Rose Kirkland!”

Wide-eyed, Elizabeth watched as her friend leave and moved her mouth up and down, not unlike a fish, yet none of the indignant words in her mind came out. It was almost as if the embarrassing heat of her body disintegrated them from her throat. The only sounds that would come out were mortified squeaks.

Meanwhile, Alfred was watching the exchange, his head tilted with confusion. What were these women talking about?

Then something clicked in his mind.

_Elizabeth Rose Kirkland. (Apparently, her real name…so fancy…)_

Kiku Honda.

 **E** lizabeth  **R** ose Kirkland…

K **iku**  Honda….

Equals:

**ERIKU.**

_…That is the worst creation of a pseudonym I’ve ever seen or heard._

Then Alfred’s eyes widened.

“Wait a minute…” He looked at Elizabeth. “So you don’t wanna have sex with me?”

Elizabeth twitched and stiffly turned her head to send him a murderous glare.  _“No.”_

If Alfred noticed the bloodthirsty aura around the petite woman, he didn’t look like it. He actually had the nerve to look a little affronted, if the way he placed his hands on his hips and pouted were any indication.

“Why  _not_?”

A vein started pulsing on her forehead as her hands clenched.

“Because I’m hiring you to help me do research for a story I’m writing!” Elizabeth screamed. “I don’t know how many times I have to repeat it until it gets through your thick head,  _you fucking wanker_! Besides, didn’t Mr. Braginski tell you this already?”

“Well, yeah, but I didn’t actually believe him, to tell you the truth.” Alfred reached up and sheepishly scratched the back of his head. When Elizabeth’s look hardened, he rolled his eyes. “Oh, don’t give me that look. If you worked for the guy, you wouldn’t have believed him either.”

_Fucking Red’s probably laughing his fat, Russian ass off…_

* * *

Ivan paused in the rough movements of his hips against Yao’s bare backside and blinked dubiously.

“W-what is it, Vanya?” Yao cried desperately, his cheeks flushed with exertion as his body splayed across Ivan’s desk.

He hummed thoughtfully. “I’m not exactly sure…but I have this sudden desire to  _destroy_  Alfred.” ( **Kolkolkolkol~** )

The Chinese man twitched.  _Y-you’ve got to be kidding me, aru…_

* * *

“So, research, huh?” Alfred sat back down on the couch, placed his glasses back on his face, and then picked up his ice cream ( _Which is totally melted now! Sadness…T^T_ ). “What kind of research?”

Elizabeth stared at him, still feeling irritated at this odd man and his mood swings. She snorted derisively and crossed her arms.

“I just wanted to get a better idea of how male prostitution works, for this story my editor wants me to write.” She paused, thoughtfully. “And I also want to improve on my love scenes. I just figured that the best way to get both is to hire an expert on both—in other words, you, git.”

Alfred hummed and held his chin contemplatively. “So, what do I have to do? Demonstrate how I work?” He tilted his head slightly. “Isn’t that sort of like voyeurism?”

Elizabeth blushed. “I-no! Not like that! You just…”

His story about the cheating husband and wife came back to her. Despite it being sordid, Elizabeth couldn’t help but be intrigued in the irony of the story. She almost wanted to hear it again, but in more detail…

_That’s it._

“You can talk about the encounters with your clients.”

Alfred narrowed his eyes in bemusement. “Huh?”

“Like how you did before, when you talked about the couple,” she explained as she started pacing the floor, her mind racing. “Only I want more detail—in fact, any detail you can remember of each encounter. You can even make some of it up if you feel the need to.”

“How is this helping with your research, exactly?”

“It will give me more of a perspective that I can use for my characters, as well as probably give me ideas on what types of situations people like you have to work in.”

“Right.” Alfred looked at her doubtfully, and then his eyes hardened slightly. “Okay, listen, Elizabeth, right? Are you really sure you want to hear stuff like that? Because I’m not sure what you’ve been told, or led to believe, but the life of a prostitute isn’t always easy to stomach. A lot of people I know have seen more twisted shit than I have in a week. And you actually wanna  _know_  about it?”

Elizabeth nodded firmly. “Whatever you feel comfortable talking about, I’ll listen.”

For a few minutes, the two of them stared at each other, as if silently challenging the other to stand down. It took Alfred a while of contemplating to break away first, but he couldn’t say he was disappointed. There was something about that woman’s eyes, that little sparkle of determination that appealed to him somehow…

He smiled and sat back. “Okay, lady, I’ll do it.”

She blinked, almost in disbelief. “Really?”

“Yeah, why not? I’m gonna get paid three hundred a night just to talk? I can’t think of a sweeter gig than that.”

“Well, it won’t be just you talking,” said Elizabeth. “Eventually, when I have a draft ready, you’re going to have to help with corrections, and we might move on to…other things as well. But it’s start.”

One of Alfred’s eyebrows arched.  _“Other things”? Wonder what those are…_

_Ah, well. I guess I’ll just wait and see._

Meanwhile, Elizabeth was blushing slightly.  _It’s only for research, only for research, only for research…_

As long as she told herself that, she was certain she would be emotionally prepared for the nights to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I made a reference to "You Can't Take the Sky From Me". Considering how awesome it was, I'm not sorry.


	3. Mr. Thompson

**Chapter 3: Mr. Thompson**

“So, which client do you wanna hear about first?”

Elizabeth sat back and thought for a moment. “I suppose, whichever one comes to your mind,” she shrugged.

Alfred let out a snort. “Very specific.”

“Well, I don’t know!” Her cheeks flushed. “It’s not as if I have free access to your brain, just so I could pluck out whatever I want…and I probably don’t want to anyway.”

“Hey!” He glared. “What’s  _that_  supposed to mean?”

Elizabeth smirked briefly, and then she lifted her head in a dignified manner and crossed her arms. Her face went blank.

“I have no idea what you mean,” she said. “After all, it’s not as if I’m  _implying_  anything.”

An eyebrow twitched as his smile became crooked. “I thought not…”

_Bitch._

Alfred then lay down on the sofa, folding his arms behind his head. He stared up at the ceiling, humming with thought. Who could he talk about? He may be young, but he’d had many clients over the past five or so years of working, including ones that had been before he was employed by Ivan…

_No_ , his eyes narrowed coldly.  _Not them. Someone else._

He thought for a few more moments and then glanced at Elizabeth.

“Which clients do you wanna hear about? The men or the women?”

For a second, Alfred thought he saw something—a rather  _familiar_  emotion—flash in those pretty green eyes, but then Elizabeth blinked and sat up straight.

“Just the men,” she replied. “I don’t want to hear about your female clients”

Alfred quirked an eyebrow and regarded her curiously.  _Hmm…_

“All right.” He kept his eyes closed for a few minutes, trying to come up with a solid image in his mind. He slowly smiled with amusement.

* * *

 

Mr. Thompson is a man who is almost fifty years old, stands at five foot seven, has thinning brown hair, and had been married for about twenty-odd years. He is now divorced, living alone in an apartment, working downtown in some job involving the stock exchange. And, oh, that’s right; despite being an upstanding, far right-wing Republican and a self-proclaimed true American patriot in the public eye, Mr. Thompson is really a homosexual who refuses to get out of his warm, safe closet.

…I know, I was a little shocked too, but it’s the honest truth. Mr. Thompson is living proof that clichés like him actually exist. Go figure.

But you don’t wanna hear about the man being a tragic-bordering-on-hilarious closet case. You wanna know how he became one of my top clients.

Well, it all started roughly four years ago, when I first started working for Braginski. I was young then, sixteen, but I’d already been hanging out in the corners and doing business in the darkest downtown alleys for a year and a half, so it wasn’t as if working for Ivan would have been completely new to me. The only reason I got into the job, however, was because Feliciano had recommended it after working in the brothel for a few months.

(… _And a few other reasons as well, but I won’t tell you that._ )

I will admit it, though, that I was just a little nervous on my first night. The environment was completely new to me. It wasn’t a dirty street corner, where you’d wait for customers to drive up, pull their window down, and then proceed to walk over, lean slightly on the window, and sultrily ask if the driver (and sometimes other passengers) wanted “to have some fun”.  _Sunflower Haven_  was and still is a bar slash brothel that is actually clean, almost sophisticated looking—a little too much for prostitutes, if you ask me, considering that we’re probably not in the scope of “high class” pros. I wasn’t sure how to act in front of the well-off looking customers, because I felt they would receive such attention much differently than the ones on the street.

Thank God that Feliciano pushed me in the direction of Mr. Thompson; otherwise, I still would have been nervous.

Back then, Thompson had been in his mid-forties, and had a thicker head of hair. His wrinkles weren’t as pronounced back then, and the dark blue business suit he was wearing was all pressed and orderly. He leaned against the bar on his elbows, looking down at his hands, not touching his shot of bourbon ( _Or was it scotch? Eh, it doesn’t matter_ ).

At first, I hesitated approaching him—he looked more like he just wanted to get drunk, rather than get laid—but Feli nodded at me with his trademark smile, and I managed to approach him.

“Sir,” I greeted him softly. “Is everything all right?”

He looked up and stared at me.

“Yes, I’m all right,” he nodded, his eyes darting away from me. “I’m all right…”

He stared down at his drink and remained silent. I watched him for a few minutes, and then I stepped forward to the empty seat next to him. He shifted a few spaces away from it, giving me an unspoken permission to join him. I sat on the stool and laced my fingers on the bar. At first, I would glance at him every few seconds, just in case he decided to say something. But he didn’t. If anything, he did whatever he could to avoid my gaze.

As you can guess, I eventually got bored, not to mention just a little self-conscious. Every one of my other co-workers were meeting up with clients and seducing them skillfully enough that they would get good business that night. I know I shouldn’t have been envious that they were getting work before me, for various reasons, but I needed the money—and this job was ( _and still is_ ) all I’ve got.

To keep my mind off my soon to be client’s lack of a reaction, I ordered a small ginger ale from the bartender. (Don’t look at me like that, lady, I may be a manwhore, but I obey the drinking law.) The moment I took a small sip was the moment I finally felt the burn of eyes on me.

I glanced at the man as discreetly as I could. His grey eyes were clouded over as they roved up and down my body, fully taking me in. Initially, I thought he was disappointed; after all, I was young, but I wasn’t exactly wearing the most provocative of clothing. From what I heard from Feli, Thompson really loved younger men (Twinks, they’re sometimes called)—and he liked to have his younger men donned in body glitter, leather shorts, high top, heeled boots, and sometimes a spiked collar or a simple hat. Feliciano knew this, because he often wore such outfits (he especially has a soft spot for his red leather boots), and as such, he’d become a fast favorite with Mr. Thompson. In fact, he still is a favorite, along with me. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves.

The point is that I wasn’t wearing Mr. Thompson’s preferred “uniform”. In fact, when I’d been recommended to wear such clothing, I downright refused. I may into men, Miss Kirkland, but I don’t go that far for my clients—unless I’m really desperate for money, but I try to avoid going down that lane as much as I can ( _which, admittedly, is easier said than done_ ). Instead, that night, I was mostly dressed in a black loose button down shirt and black leather pants. As such, I was surprised to see that hungry glint in his eye as he fully took me in. But I didn’t complain; finally, we were getting somewhere.

Looking back now, I’m pretty sure it was the leather pants that helped—they were pretty tight, almost uncomfortable, but they were enough to leave little to the imagination. Well, that, and the fact that I wasn’t wearing my glasses at the time. You’ve seen how smokin’ hot I am without ‘em, and it’s safe to say that they have that effect on almost all my other clients ( **smirk** ).

**_“J-just keep going, git!”_ **

“You must be new,” he said, finally. “I haven’t seen you in here before.”

I smiled and nodded cheerfully. “Yes, sir. Just started today.”

Mr. Thompson nodded, humming thoughtfully. Then he leaned forward to whisper huskily in my ear.

“How old are you, boy?”

My smile widened as I made my own voice soft. “Old enough, sir.”

“Old enough to know some tricks?” He asked as he placed his hand on my forearm and moved it upwards to my shoulder.

“I like to think I know a lot of tricks,” I replied. “But if you want, you could always teach me some new ones.”

Mr. Thompson hummed in my ear. “That’s good. Very good.”

From the way he was lightly squeezing my shoulder, I’m pretty sure he wasn’t just referring to my skill in bed.

He pulled back somewhat and stared down at me (I was a bit shorter back then) for a good while. Then he nodded towards the back.

“Let’s go rent a room.”

My eyes widened, shining with somethin akin to concern. “But sir, that will cost you at least eighty dollars.”

I think Mr. Thompson might have groaned slightly; his cheeks were blushing, that much I remember.

“That doesn’t matter.” His hand moved from my shoulder to my back. “I won’t wait…”

_Bingo_. I could already smell the food I’d be buying with my soon-to-be earnings. ( _I also hoped that it would be enough…but you don’t need to know for what or whom_.)

With a slight nod, I smiled and got up from my seat. I waited for Mr. Thompson to copy my move, watching as he stood up straight and tall, as if to show off his dominance. Then I took his hand and proceeded to lead him to the back.

Now, I’m pretty sure you have some idea of what the rooms look like. You probably think that they’re just old rooms that might have peeling paint on the walls and the occasional cockroach crawling around, on a particularly bad day. You know, the stereotypical cheap motel look.

Quite the opposite, really; each of those special rooms is more like a hotel suite if anything. They all have a soft, plush King sized bed, a clean bathroom, a wide-screen TV with cable, and, of course, one of those cute mini-fridges. Yeah, I know it sounds surprising. I almost didn’t believe it myself, until I learned that Ivan…

Well, you don’t need to know that. Let’s just say, he’s pretty well off, despite just being a pimp.

As we stepped inside one of the rooms, I glanced at Mr. Thompson and gave him a smile, which he returned, slowly closing the door behind us. Then he faced me, eyeing me like he did before; full of want and hunger. I let go of his hand and laced both of my hands behind me, rocking back and forth on the balls of my feet, looking kinda like a kid waiting for his Christmas present.

“What do you want me to do first, sir?”

He hummed thoughtfully, and then went to sit on the bed. He leaned back on his palms and finally locked his eyes with mine.

“Start stripping. Slowly, though,” he demanded. “I wanna watch.”

I nodded. “Right away, sir.”

Then I lifted both of my hands and began to unbutton my shirt as slow as it would take to tease the man, just enough to get him at least half-hard. All the while, I started thinking about whether I should do a little dance as well, despite the lack of music. Mr. Thompson hadn’t told me to do so, but, as I slipped off my shirt, I decided to sway my hips just the slightest, just in case. I moved my hands over my upper body, lingering for a few minutes on my chest, where I squeezed my nipples sensually. Though the stimulation wasn’t as hot as it could’ve been, I made a good show of moaning softly, leaning my head back and squeezing my eyes shut for effect, so I would look as if it was all “too much for me”. After a moment, I opened one eye to observe Mr. Thompson; his eyes were wide and wild, his cheeks were flushed, and there was a slight bulge growing in his pants. In my mind, I smirked.  _Looks like the old man’s enjoying the show…_

Because, you see, most of the time, we prostitutes are pretty much like actors when it comes to our work. The only differences are that there is no script, and our stage is a bedroom (and other much more sordid places, as well).

My hands traveled slowly from my chest to down my abdomen, and then they rested on my belt buckle. I glanced at Mr. Thompson, whose erection became more prominent, and then I turned around. After all, it wasn’t just my front he wanted to see.

The only sounds in the room were those of a belt unbuckling and tight leather slowly sliding off skin.

When my body was completely bare, I heard a light gasp behind me. Before I turned around, I felt calloused hands on my hips, squeezing and pulling just the slightest. Then a pair of hips started to grind against my backside, a confined erection throbbing and probing against me. With a light smirk, I ground back against him, causing him to gasp.

“God, your ass is fine,” Mr. Thompson panted against my ear.

Unknown to him, I quirked an eyebrow wryly, thinking that  _someone_ was a little desperate. My voice, on the other hand, was sweet and languid.

“Thank you, sir.” I rocked a little harder against him, smirking slightly. “Do you wanna fuck me, sir?”

Mr. Thompson groaned and leaned his head on my shoulder.

“Get on your knees first,” was his husky order.

Obediently, I turned around and got down on my knees, coming face to face with the man’s confined cock. My eyes darted upward to lock with his, silently asking a question. Mr. Thompson let out a grunt and nodded. I directed my eyes back and proceeded to undo his pants. Then I went straight to work.

* * *

 

When Alfred opened his eyes, Elizabeth’s cheeks were painted in a cute pink and her green eyes were shining. He also noted the notebook in her hand, which she’d obviously been scrawling notes on, as well as how tightly she crossed her legs. He blinked.

“Wait…is that it?” Elizabeth said, finally. Her brows were furrowed as her eyes dimmed with…disappointment?

Alfred raised an eyebrow.  _Well, now, what do we have here?_

“No,” he said. “Sorry, just needed to take a breath.”

“Oh, all right.”

Elizabeth shifted her gaze towards the wall opposite her couch, her cheeks flushing slightly. Narrowing his eyes, Alfred sat up straight and crossed his arms as he observed her intently, trying to see right through her. It must have unnerved Elizabeth, because she was fidgeting in her seat, crossing and uncrossing her legs every once in a while. Alfred either didn’t notice her discomfort, or he decided to ignore it, as his blue eyes lingered on her crossed thighs…

_I wonder…could she actually be…_ _Nah, couldn’t be_.

Shrugging that thought away (for now), Alfred sat back and cleared his throat to get his client’s attention. Then he continued.

* * *

 

“Ah!” Mr. Thompson threw his head back, his eyes clenching shut. “Fuck…!”

I hummed around his dick and began to bob my head, trying to take in as much of him as I could. Since he was of average size, he wasn’t either too long or too thick for me. So, really, it was easy for my throat to take him in inch by inch.

“Mm, yeah,” he groaned as he ran his hand through my hair, tugging on the locks. He looked down at me with a glare, though his eyes shined with satisfaction. “You little slut, you’ve done this before, haven’t you?”

I smirked around him and continued to suck him, making sure to run my tongue against the underside of his cock, which had begun to pulse. His breathing quickly became more ragged and his grip on my head got tighter.

Suddenly, he pulled me off, panting. He looked at me and my slightly gaping mouth and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed.

“Hands and knees, on the bed,” he ordered. “Now.”

I got up and crawled to the middle of the bed, staying in the position demanded of me. I looked over my shoulder at him expectantly. Mr. Thompson looked back and then grasped his length in his hand, stroking it slowly.

“Prepare yourself.”

I nodded and over to the nightstand by the bed, opening its drawer. Inside was a bottle of lube, which I took out—because there was no way in hell I was using spit. People tend to think that’s a more resourceful use for lube, but trust me when I say that it’s absolute shit and leads to more pain than necessary. ( _Of course, not that many clients care that you’re in pain or not…_ ) When I opened the bottle, I poured a good amount in my hand, and then I rubbed my hands to fully coat both of them. Then I put the bottle down and reached over behind me. After spreading the lube around my hole, I slowly inserted one of my slick fingers, cringing slightly at the sensation. Back then, it was still sort of new to me, even if I had been working for about a year, so fingering myself was still something I had to get used to.

“Uh…yeah, that’s right,” Mr. Thompson groaned behind me, watching as I probed myself. “Spread that ass wider.”

My eyebrow twitched slightly, but I obeyed by putting in another finger and using both to spread the constricting muscles. Biting my lip slightly, I pressed a third finger inside and pushed all three of them deeper, searching for that  _one_ spot that made this all worthwhile.

_There it is…!_

“Ah,” I gasped, jolts of electricity inflaming my body. I arched my back and thrust my fingers harder against that bundle of nerves. A needy moan escaped my lips, one that was partially exaggerated, for my client’s sake.

“…Stop!” Mr. Thompson grabbed my wrist, his voice coming out desperate and breathless. “That’s enough…Shit.”

Panting slightly, I obediently removed my fingers and braced my hand on the bed. Then, with my other hand, I handed him the lube. As I crouched there, waiting, I could hear Thompson open a foil packet that no doubt contained a condom and roll it on. Then I heard the sound of the bottle being squeezed in order to get enough lube to slick him up. When I finally felt his flesh, its heat slightly diluted by the plastic and the cool lube covering it, I inhaled a deep breath from my nose and closed my eyes.

It’s kinda hard to describe having a dick up your ass. I mean, the feelings tend to vary, depending on the one who’s topping you. Sometimes, it’s really good, like,  _awesomely_ good—and I don’t care if “awesomely” isn’t a word, so stop giving me that look—so much so, that you’ll become addicted to it.

Sometimes, however, it’s not as good as it could be. A good handful of times, the guy (or girl, if you’re into that sort of thing) goes too fast and is too rough, which just makes the sex painful, not to mention horrible (at least in my case; others might disagree). Sometimes, they’re just too inexperienced for that sort of thing, so their movements come out as too fast and clumsy for you to enjoy it—which just results in bad sex for the receiving party.

Unfortunately, Mr. Thompson was the second type.

“Aw, yeah,” he moaned, gripping my hips tightly as he thrust into me. “God, you feel so  _tight_ …!”

_Is this over yet?_ I was tempted to prop my chin on my hand, and just pout like a spoiled child, but I knew that wouldn’t do. A majority of the time, customers get off on the prostitute’s reactions. If there was even just the slightest hint of you getting bored, there would be a chance the client might start…hurting you, just to get a response. Sometimes, they won’t notice a thing—but would you really want to take that chance?

I didn’t.

So, with each cry of pleasure Thompson let out, I would reply with a moan and a standard phrase you could hear in any porno.

“Yes! Oh, baby, yes…!”

He chuckled and leaned over to lick the shell of my ear, the material of his suit rough against my bare back.

“Yeah, you like that, don’t you? You love how your daddy gives it to you fast and hard, like the little slut you are…!”

My eye twitched.  _Now he wants me to call him daddy? Ugh…_

But hey, if that’s what the customer wants…

“Mm, yeah,” I replied, making my voice go a few octaves higher. “I’ve been such a bad boy, Daddy, such a little slut.”

“And you wanna get punished even harder, don’t you?”

_Not really._ “Yes, Daddy! Punish me! Oh, give to me nice and hard!”

Mr. Thompson answered by thrusting harder inside me, going at a more desperate pace. His groans grew louder, so loud that I was pretty sure I wasn’t really on his mind at the moment; just my ass. Which was fine with me, really. It meant that I could get away with not screaming until my throat went raw.

“Oh, oh, fuck!” he cried suddenly.

“You gonna come, Daddy?” I purred, rolling my hips back.

“Yeah, yeah, oh, yeah,” he grunted.

_Then hurry up, ya old geezer! Jesus…_

“Together, Daddy.” I wrapped my hand around myself—possibly the only thing I could do to give me some kinda pleasure—and let out a genuine moan. “Let’s come together.”

Mr. Thompson groaned out a garbled sentence of approval and thrust a few more times, until he grinded tautly against me, letting out a hoarse cry. I felt warmth fill me from the confines of the condom. I quickened my stroking and soon released with a sigh. Finally, it was over.

He panted against my back for a few moments before pulling out. I turned on my back and watched as he removed the condom and tied it closed to contain its milky contents before tossing it into the trash. As he zipped up, he looked back at me, his cheeks flushed with exertion, and his mouth spread into a smarmy smile.

“You were pretty damn good.” He pulled out his wallet and took out a few bills before handing them to me. “You definitely earned this.”

I took the money and counted it as he walked out, and then I smiled. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to pay part of my rent, as well as get that week’s groceries. If this was what I could make in a night, I could only imagine what I’d have by the end of the month, if I saved enough…

* * *

 

“And that’s it, really. That’s how my first night at Ivan’s went, and how I managed to hook in a man who is now one of my regulars.” Alfred shrugged. “Nothing much to it, really.”

When he looked up at Elizabeth, he saw that the woman was staring at the floor, tapping her lips in thought.

“That sounded so…” She paused, her eyes narrowing. “Mechanical.”

_Rather robotic really_ , she thought.  _Not really what I was expecting at all…_ _And yet_ , Elizabeth looked at Alfred, locking green eyes with blue.

He blinked at her scrutiny. “Is something wrong?”

She shook her head.

“Not at all,” Elizabeth answered truthfully as she leaned forward, propping her elbows on her currently uncrossed legs. “It was very…fascinating.”

She looked at him again, her green eyes gleaming slightly. “I actually want to hear more.”

Alfred’s eyes widened at the look in her eyes.  _Holy shit, she really_ is _…!_

“Are you free around this time next week, if not earlier?”

Speechless due to his epiphany, Alfred’s voice was a bit shaky. “S-sure.”

“How about we meet again on Thursday, and then proceed through the weekend—that way, we can get more done.”

“W-whatever you want,” he cleared his throat and shrugged.

“Smashing!” Elizabeth grinned and stood up. “Wait here.”

The petite woman then walked out of the room and started rummaging through the closet near the door. Alfred watched her, his blue eyes still wide with shock over the conclusion he’d come to. Granted, it wasn’t as if the aspect was new to him—he’d catered to kinkier clients, after all—but this woman…

“Here you are,” Elizabeth handed over three bills with a smile. “Consider this a down payment for your work. I’ll give you the rest at the end of the month, alright?”

Alfred could only gape at the five Benjamin Franklins in her hands—he could definitely pay his half of the rent with this. And as for the rest of the money…

_Guys, we’re totally gonna eat like royalty this weekend!_

(Okay, so maybe that was an exaggeration—but it was better than what he usually earned, so his melodrama is sort of justified.)

“Dude, you totally rock!” Alfred went over and wrapped his arms around Elizabeth’s tiny waist, squeezing it with gratitude. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Elizabeth blushed brightly as she inadvertently felt the contours of the young man’s muscles through his clothes. She couldn’t help but recall earlier, when Alfred had held her against his body and had tried to seduce her ( _N-not that he almost succeeded, of course! I was just surprised!_ ), and her mouth went dry.

_Bollocks…_

She lifted her hands and pushed against him, her head turned so she wasn’t looking at him.

“Th-th-there’s no need to get crazy, you git! Just take the money and go.”

Alfred laughed and pulled away from her, taking his money as he did.

_Whatever this woman’s deal is_ , he grinned as he held his earnings.  _I think I’ll ignore it._

_For now, anyway…_

“Hey, I forgot, your name’s Elizabeth, right?”

“Yes…?”

“Ugh, too formal. How ‘bout Lizzie, instead?”

“W-what?”

“Okay, that settles it, then. From now on, I’ll call you Lizzie!”

“Y-y-you idiot! Get out of my house—and don’t call me Lizzie!”

“No problem, I’ll be going now. See ya next week… _Lizzie_.”

“It’s  _Elizabeth_ , you git! And you better not forget it…!”

Alfred’s boisterous laughter practically echoed in her ears as she shut the door behind him. Elizabeth then turned around and slid down the door.

Why did it feel as if her fate had been sealed?


	4. A Day in the Life of...

**Chapter 4: A Day in the Life of…**

Like lots of normal people, Alfred F. Jones, a relatively young male prostitute of twenty years old, had many complaints about his job.

One of these complaints is coming home from work at, like, seven o’clock in the morning.

“So, yeah, I totally didn’t finish that project…”

“No good, man, you’re gonna fail…”

“Hey, don’t push…!”

“God, I need coffee…”

“Hello, ladies and gentleman. I’d hate to interrupt your ride for the day, but I was laid off a few months ago, and I just ran out of money from unemployment…”

…Coming home via  _crowded_   _subway train_ at, like, seven o’clock in the morning.

Needless to say, by the time his stop came around, Alfred’s left eye had developed one hell of an irritated twitch, which was close to going away as he walked closer to his six-floor apartment building. In fact, the minute he stepped inside and began sneaking up to his three-room apartment as quickly as possible, his twitch was almost nonexistent.

“ _Oye_ , Jones!”

…And then the superintendant caught him.

“Don’t think I don’t see you, you ungrateful  _pendejo_!”

 _…One day, one_ fucking _day…is that too much to ask for?_ Alfred rolled his eyes to the white ceiling, which was slightly cracked and had chipped paint. Then he turned on his heel to face the man with a wide, plastic smile as he sheepishly scratched his head.

“Mr. Estevez,” he greeted. “How are you this morning?”

One of the Cuban man’s thick eyebrows twitched. “Don’t you play games with me, asshole! Where’s my money?”

Alfred sighed, deciding to drop the nice act. “Look, Estevez, I can’t give you the money right now—but I swear to you, it’s coming soon.”

“That’s what you said last week!”

“Well, I’m telling you again. Sorry.”

“Don’t you crack wise with me,  _tu gringo estupido!_ ” ( **You stupid white boy!** basically)

“Hey! I know what that means, you no-good, illegal cigar smoking, Com—”

_“Enough!”_

Both men cringed at the shrill, thick accented voice. Trembling slightly, they both turned to look up the stairs, where, from the second floor, a dark skinned woman glared down at them with fierce almond eyes. She wore a long red dress with a black sash wrapped around the middle, and her black hair (which had a few stands of silver, but if you wanted to live with your _cajones_  intact, you wouldn’t mention them) was tied up into a bun.

“I know you two little sons of bitches aren’t starting  _este_   _mierda_ ( **this shit** ) this early in the morning,” she said, placing her hands on her hips.

Alfred smiled sheepishly and waved timidly. “Morning, Maria!”

Though the heat in her eyes softened somewhat, Maria Colon scowled and pointed upwards with her thumb.

“Just get home already, Jones,” she commanded.

“Yes, ma’am.” He gave her a mock salute, and then he started towards his apartment, leaving behind an argument spoken in quick Spanish.

_“¿Oye, cuál es la idea grande, mujer?”_

_“¡Tú bastardo, tú sabes mejor que exprimir el dinero fuera de él después de una noche del trabajo,_   _especialmente en vista de su situación!”_

_“¡Sí, pero él debe también aprender pasar su dinero mejor!”_

_“¡Él tiene que ayudar a alimentar tres bocas, incluyendo se…!”_

Alfred quickly opened and closed his door, immediately blocking his ears from the continuing argument. He turned around and leaned against the door, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. God, he needed sleep, almost more than he needed a good hamburger in his hand.

 _Hamburgers!_ He cried mentally, as his empty stomach groaned with longing.  _How long has it been since I had a good, decent burger? Three years? Four, at least…_

After all, ever since the baby had been born, Maddie had practically banned anything fast food related in the Jones-Williams household—which, obviously, broke Alfred’s heart into millions of tiny pieces.

_I mean, really, a child growing up without McDonald’s? The very thought just screams blasphemy!_

_But, hey, whatever mommy says goes. I guess…_

Alfred sighed and pushed off of the door to walk towards the living room couch. He almost expected a “welcome home”, but then he reminded himself that it was almost eight, which meant that the other occupants of the place had already gone off to start their day. For a moment, but not for the first time, Alfred couldn’t help but feel some semblance of resentment for his job. It would be nice to come home to someone waiting for you. Granted, being a prostitute often prevented such a thing from happening, for many reasons, but it would still be nice to have that one thing, at least once.

As he got closer, though, a familiar sweet smell wafted through his nostrils, immediately making his mouth water and his spirits lift. Smiling widely, he looked across the room to see the kitchen slash dining room, and his eyes glowed happily as they drank in what was on the table.

_But at least I can count on Maddie’s pancakes!_

Bouncing with the giddiness of a child on his birthday, Alfred went over to the table and sat down to consume the plate of two pancakes, doused liberally in maple syrup, which had been laid out for him. There wasn’t a note, or a yell of surprise from the two people he loved the most, but the pancakes were still warm and tasted fresh.

And as he lay himself down on the sofa to sleep, for at least six hours, Alfred assured himself (not for the first time) that it was enough.

* * *

 

Later that Thursday, Elizabeth found herself staring up at the clock hanging on the wall, constantly tapping her pen on her desk. Her green eyes were narrowed and her mouth was twitching. Yet, no matter how much she mentally cursed the infernal thing, time refused to accelerate to five-thirty, when she’d finally be allowed to leave this fucking building.

Someone in the other cubicle laughed. “Well, you’re certainly getting antsy.”

Elizabeth looked up at the speaker and managed a small smile. “Hey, Gabriel. What’s going on?”

The blond man raised an eyebrow, his warm brown eyes twinkling mischievously. “I think that should be my question for you, Liz. You’ve been fidgeting since we came back from lunch.”

For a moment, Elizabeth narrowed her eyes and scowled with a playful wariness. “You arse, have you been bloody spying on me?”

“Honey, your cubicle is right next to mine. It’s a little difficult for me  _not_  to notice you glaring up at the clock—with a rather blatant hostility, might I add—whenever I get up to use the men’s room, or talk to the boss.”

“Oh.” Embarrassed, Elizabeth shrunk back against her office chair and shifted her eyes to gaze at a spot on her wall.

Then, as if on instinct, her eyes darted to the clock—which still refused to move faster.

She twitched.  _Bloody hell!_

The Portuguese man smiled widely and leaned down so he could speak softly enough for no one else in the office to hear.

“So…who is he?”

Her face burned a light shade of red as Elizabeth sputtered.

Gabriel blinked in mock bemusement. “A she, then?”

That just made the reaction worse.

“I-what?-There’s….” She shook her head to clear her mind, enough to hiss out, “He’s nobody!”

“So you admit that there’s a man in your life? Heh.”

Just as Elizabeth was about to rant, she paused. “…What do you mean, I ‘admit’? What’s there to admit?”

Gabriel leaned on top of her cubicle with his elbows, and he smirked. “Hon, you’ve had that look on your face this entire week.”

“ _What_  look?”

“That ‘I’m-totally-having-a-secret-steamy-affair’ look.”

“W-w-what?” Elizabeth’s eye twitched. “I most certainly am not!”

_Like I’d ever want to have an affair with someone like that idiotic, perverted, American git face—especially one who sells his body for a living!_

Elizabeth nodded firmly.  _He’s just a subject for my research._

For some reason, though, her mind couldn’t help but conjure up an image of Alfred, where was on her bed, lying on his side, wearing nothing but a white sheet that only covered his lower half. In her mind’s eye, he was smiling and beckoning her over a crooked finger, his smoky blue eyes twinkling….

 _…A very attractive subject for my research._ She conceded with a blush.

_But that doesn’t mean anything!_

“I need a break.” Elizabeth stood up from her chair and walked out of her cubicle, not looking back at her friend. “I’ll be right back, alright.”

“Okay.” Gabriel stared after her and waited until she was halfway across the office room to shake his head with a knowing smile.

Just as Elizabeth was about to press the down button for the elevator, a thick German accent spoke up, stopping her.

“Going on break, Miss Kirkland?”

One of her eyebrow’s twitched, and Elizabeth sighed, turning around to face the tall blonde man with cold blue eyes, which narrowed down at her. Ludwig was the main supervisor of her unit, and with that said, he ran their floor like a captain to a ship—a very strict captain to a ship. Seriously, he had rules for everything, and if you broke one, he would always find out. And when he found out…well, just pray that your limbs and hearing will remain intact. He wasn’t the worst of Elizabeth’s co-workers, but she couldn’t say that they were best friends either. If there was anything between them, it was probably a mutual, albeit begrudging respect.

“Look, Ludwig,” Elizabeth said. “I’m only going out for a few minutes, and then I’ll come straight back, alright?”

Ludwig stared at her for a few moments and nodded. Then he lifted his arm to show her his watch, tapping on its face.

“Ten minutes,” he said. “No more, no less. Understand?”

 _Sir, yes, sir!_  It took all she had to just nod, instead of salute. Then, when she heard a ring behind her, Elizabeth turned around and went inside the elevator. The doors closed, allowing her to close her eyes and lean her head against the wall.

Normally, she wasn’t like this at her part-time job. Granted, it wasn’t the best she could have done—Elizabeth had actually wanted to work as a teacher when she was in college—but working at this financial company turned out to be more monetarily secure. This was good for both Elizabeth and Kiku, especially when their real work wasn’t going so well.

Yes, it’s true. As much as Elizabeth would  _love_ to live her entire life writing (even if it was gay porn), the very aspect was close to impossible in the real world. After all, ERIKU’s books and stories might make money, a lot of it, even, but those earnings can only get one so far, especially considering how fickle the publishing world was, or how sporadic the dreaded writer’s block can appear ( _shudder_ ). So, knowing all this, both Kiku and Elizabeth had agreed to take on part time jobs, just in case.

Elizabeth just wished that this bloody day would be over already, so she could just go and meet up with Alfred.

 _…Not because I’m looking forward to seeing him again, or anything like that!_ She shook her head furiously as she walked out of the building.  _I just want to get as much work done as possible. What other reason could I have to meet up with someone like him? God, just thinking about it is ridiculous!_

With a slightly snobbish snort, Elizabeth nodded to herself resolutely and walked toward the corner of the street, where she leaned against the building. She took out a pack of cigarettes from her pocket and put one in her mouth before lighting it. She closed her eyes and took in a relaxing drag from her cigarette; almost immediately feeling her nerves relax as she ignored the rest of the people bustling passed her…

“What are you doing, lady?”

Elizabeth blinked and hummed questioningly. Then she looked down to see a little girl, standing not even as tall as her hips, with short curly brown hair and big dark blue eyes. Her clothes consisted of a white short sleeved shirt, a red dress over it, a pair of lace socks, and a pair of black shoes. In her arms, she held a brown teddy bear, which she squeezed to her chest as she stared up at the blond woman.

“Um, hello there?” Elizabeth greeted tentatively.

“Hi!” The little girl beamed, lifting one of her small arms to wave.

With a small, amused smile, Elizabeth waved back, and then paused to snuff out and dispose her cigarette. She crouched down and looked at the little girl with a friendly smile.

“Is everything alright, dear?” she asked, concerned that there wasn’t any other adult with the child.

The little girl nodded. “Me and my class are going to the libwa-” Her brows knitted in frustration. “Libwa—”

“The library?” Elizabeth prompted gently.

“Yeah!” She nodded enthusiastically, before her smile slowly morphed into a confused frown. “But I don’t know where it is…”

 _Oh, bollocks._ “Did you get lost from your group?”

She puffed her cheeks indignantly. “No!  _They’re_ lost. I just wanna get there before they do!”

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow wryly. “Really?”

“Yeah!”

_Somehow, I just know I’m going to regret this. Ludwig only gave me ten minutes, after all. Still…_

“I have an idea,” Elizabeth smiled. “How about I take you to the library myself? I know where it is.”

At that, the little girl beamed, her eyes shining—but then she frowned and hugged her bear to herself.

“Mommy says I’m not supposed to talk to stwangers…”

“And she’s very correct, your mother.” Elizabeth nodded her approval. “However, if you keep walking around without any adult supervision, you’ll come across strangers who are even…stranger, I suppose is the word.”

_Well, not really, but I don’t think you’re old enough to know the millions of words I can come up with for those sorts of people._

“Adult…what?” The little girl tilted her head in bemusement.

Elizabeth chuckled. “In other words, I’ll just take you to the library so you could find your teacher. That’s all, I promise.”

The girl pursed her lips and stared up at the woman with suspicion. Then she held out her bear’s paw, her eyes steely with determination.

“You have to do a pinky swear with Kurojiro.” At the look Elizabeth gave her, the girl smirked cheekily. “He’s my guard. He’ll eat you all up if you’re lying.”

Though amused, Elizabeth rolled her eyes and linked her pinky with the stuffed bear’s smallest claw.

“I promise to make sure your mistress gets to the library, as well as her class, safely,” she swore to the bear, making sure to sound as dramatic as the chivalrous knights of old.

The little girl giggled, and hugged her bear close to her, tilting her head as if to hear him whisper in her ear. She smiled.

“Okay, you pass!”

Fortunately, for Elizabeth, the trip to the local library didn’t take long, not that she expected it to. It was only across the street from her building. She knew about it because she often went there whenever she got the chance and/or grew bored with answering phone calls all day. It was waiting for the girl’s class that Elizabeth worried about.

“Do you see them?” she asked the girl as they stood inside, in the children’s section.

The girl looked around worriedly, then shook her head. “Uh-uh.”

Feeling her chest pinch slightly, Elizabeth smiled gently. “It’s all right, love, I’m sure we’ll find them soon. And in the mean time, I’ll keep you company until they come.” She pulled out a chair and sat down on it, crossing her ankles.

The girl paused in her searching to tilt her head and stare up at Elizabeth for a few moments—and then she giggled.

“You sound funny.”

Elizabeth’s smile twitched, as did one of her eyebrows.  _Well, I never…!_

“Are you a pincess?”

This made the woman blink.  _What…?_

“Oh! You mean ‘princess’,” she chuckled indulgently and shook her head. “No, I’m not.”

“Ya sure?” The girl rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet. “Because my uncle says that only fancy people talk like you do, like Kings and Keens.”

_Okay, I’m pretty sure she meant to say “Queens”…_

Elizabeth smirked slightly. “Your uncle?”

“Uh-huh.” The brown ringlets in her hair bounced as she nodded. “And he knows everything!”

“And why’s that?”

“‘Cause he’s a  _hero_!”

* * *

 

A few minutes later, Elizabeth returned to her cubicle to see that Ludwig was already there, waiting for her in the doorway. His arms were crossed over his broad chest and his blue eyes were hard and steely.

“You’re a minute late, Miss Kirkland,” he told her.

“I know, I know.” Elizabeth sighed and then walked to sit down in her chair. “I’m sorry, I lost track of time.”

 _Helping a little girl find her teacher_ , she added in her mind as she recalled what just happened a few minutes prior.  _Thank God that woman showed up, too. I was starting to think the poor girl had been abandoned, or worse…I hope she’ll be all right now._

Ludwig frowned, rather darkly. “Don’t let it happen again.” Then he walked away.

Elizabeth sent a dirty look at his back, but said nothing. Despite her annoyance, she was happy that the German hadn’t started a scene in the office. The last thing she wanted was attention. She turned to look at her computer, her eye catching the time on the bottom left of the screen. She then glanced up at the clock hanging on the wall to double check and groaned in exasperation. It felt as if time hadn’t moved at all for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations (warning, very rough ones; sorry):
> 
> “¿Oye, cuáles la idea grande, mujer?”: Hey, what’s the big idea, woman?
> 
> “¡Tú bastardo, sabes mejor que exprimir el dinero fuera de él después de una noche del trabajo especialmente en vista de su situación!”: You bastard, you know better than to squeeze money out of him after a night of work, especially in his sort of situation!
> 
> “¡Sí, pero él debe también aprender pasar su dinero mejor!”: Yeah, but he should also know how to spend his money better!
> 
> “¡Él tiene que ayudar a alimentar tres bocas, incluyendo se…!”: He has to help feed three mouths, including himself…!
> 
> And yes, in my mind, Maria is Mexico.


	5. Second Night, First Week

When Alfred was finally woke up, it was to the feeling of the evening sun on his face. For a brief moment, he was a little annoyed; he hadn’t intended to sleep that long. Then he felt a faint poking on his shoulder, one being done by a small, rather dainty finger.

“Alfwed,” a high-pitched voice whined softly.

He smiled softly, but kept his eyes closed.

“Uncle Alfwed!” Small hands started to push against him. “Wake up!”

A soft, playful chuckle escaped him as he opened one eye to see his little alarm clock.  _This is one way to wake up, I guess._

“Hey, Meg,” he greeted her wearily as he sat up and rubbed one of his eyes. “How was school?”

The little girl, Meghan Williams had a wide, toothy grin as she bounced up and down lightly.

“It was awesome!” she exclaimed. “We all went to that libwa…the big book place, and we got to take some books home. I got the one with the cat wearing the tall hat!”

“Really?” Alfred grinned and leaned towards her, his elbows on his knees. “The hat that looks like a candy cane?”

“Uh-huh! I’ll show you,” Meg nodded, and then turned around to get her Spongebob Squarepants backpack, handing it to him. “Look, look!”

Alfred unzipped the bag and took out the library book in question. He held it in his hands and whistled with slightly exaggerated amazement.

“Wow, this one looks cool,” he said. “Did you read it yet?”

Meg frowned and shifted nervously on the balls of her feet. “I was hoping Alfwed would…”

Alfred glanced at the clock hanging on the wall, and his eyes widened slightly when he saw that it was almost five o’clock. He should’ve been in the shower already.

“Is your mom home, yet?” he asked, keeping his smile in place.

Meg shook her head, the brightness in her violet eyes dimming slightly. “Mommy has to work late tonight at the westa—food place.”

She then looked up at Alfred with wide pleading eyes and the look made his heart clench. It was funny, she looked so much like Maddie, but she had a little bit of him in there too—especially that wide-eyed look that seemed to charm everyone who looked into her eyes. He still didn’t understand how that happened. Maybe it was a trait that had been inherited from the little girl’s grandfather, much as he would loathe admitting it. ( _Because it most certainly didn’t come from her father’s side of the gene pool_ , he thought with a shudder.) Alfred didn’t really want to link anything with his and Maddie’s father anymore. Whatever sort of bond he shared with Meg, the old bastard didn’t deserve it.

Then again, sometimes Alfred didn’t think he himself deserved it either.

Despite the fact that he would be late for work—as well as his “appointment” with Miss Kirkland—Alfred smiled and picked up his niece to put on his lap. Then he opened the book that was all too familiar to him (as it should be to most people with a childhood).

“ _The sun did not shine. It was too wet to play. So we sat in the house, all that cold, cold, wet day…_ ”

* * *

If she had been anyone else, Elizabeth Kirkland would have jumped for joy when five thirty came around.

Instead, however, she just gathered her things and got up from her desk. She looked over her cubicle to see Gabriel still speaking to a client over the phone. When he was finished, she snapped her fingers to bring his attention to her. He blinked up at her.

“I have to get home now,” she said. “I’ll see you tomorrow, alright.”

Gabriel smirked slightly and leaned back on his seat. “Have fun with your steamy affair.”

Elizabeth visibly bristled with a flush. Then she let out a huff and turned on her heel, her face tilted upward.

“Kindly piss off, Gabriel,” she said primly.

Needless to say, ignoring her old friend’s laughter behind her was rather tasking, but Elizabeth still managed to keep a professional front all the way to the elevator. She was just about to press the down button when a large hand landed on her shoulder, causing her to jump. She turned around to see Ludwig standing behind her with an awkward look on his face.

“…Have a good evening, Miss Kirkland,” he nodded, almost hesitantly.

“You too, Mr. Weilschmidt,” she replied, just as awkwardly, if not more so.

Ludwig nodded again, and as he removed his hand, he turned and walked back to his cubicle. He always worked late shifts whenever he had the chance. To be honest, even though they were neither close, Elizabeth admired that aspect about him. However, Elizabeth always felt that there was something odd about him, something that she wasn’t sure she could define…

After a few moments of watching him, Elizabeth heard the elevator bell sound, and then turned around to enter it. Once she was in the parking lot and walking towards her car, her cell phone began to ring. She lifted it from her jacket pocket and saw Alfred’s name blinking back on caller I.D. She immediately clicked the call button to answer.

“Hullo? Mr. Jones?” she said.

 _“Hey Lizzie!”_ Alfred replied brightly, causing her eyebrow to twitch.

“I already told you, git, my name is Elizabeth! You can call me that, or Miss Kirkland!”

 _“B-but…that’s so_  boring _.”_

 **Twitch.** ”Is there a reason for this call, Jones?”

_“Oh, right! I just called to let you know that I will be a little late for our meeting. I’ve gotta…take care of some stuff at home, but as soon as I’m done, I’ll head to your place.”_

“At what time?” Elizabeth asked.

_“About eight-thirty, if not later.”_

“All right.” She started heading towards her car. “You remember the directions I gave you, correct?”

_“Ma’am, yes, ma’am!”_

She could just imagine Alfred grinning playfully as he said it, probably doing some horrible mockery of the British salute as well. Just the image alone made Elizabeth’s twitch get worse. She had a feeling that it would just continue to get worse the more she and Alfred interacted. Well, at least she wasn’t getting a headache.

 _“Any more orders, Ma’am?”_ Alfred added, still in soldier mode.

 _Scratch that last statement._ Elizabeth let out an exasperated sigh and rubbed her forehead.

“Just be careful, I suppose.”

Pause.  _“Aw, that’s so sweet of you, Lizzie.”_

Elizabeth blushed. “B-belt up! I’ll see you when you get there…A-and don’t call me ‘Lizzie’!”

 _“Okay,”_  he chuckled.  _”Later.”_

When he hung up, Elizabeth glared at her phone. Then, with a roll of her eyes, she put it in her purse and took out her car keys. But when she was inside her car, her phone rang  _again._

Without looking at the caller I.D., she picked up the phone and answered curtly, “Yes?”

 _“…Oh, Elizabeth-san, I-I’m sorry,”_  was the timid reply.  _”Did I call at a bad time?”_

“K-Kiku! My God, I am so sorry,” Elizabeth said. “I had just gotten off the phone with somebody, and—I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have been rude either way,” she added as an afterthought.

Kiku giggled softly.  _”It’s alright, Elizabeth. I expected as such.”_

Feeling less tense, Elizabeth smiled. “So, what’s up with you?”

_“Well…here’s the thing. Cleopatra-san is here.”_

_Oh, fuck._ ”…She’s here to take pictures?”

_“Hai.”_

“…Pictures of us in  _costumes_?”

_“…H-h-hai.”_

Elizabeth pursed her lips, almost pouting. After a few moments of thinking, she sighed.

“Sure, why not? It’s not as if we haven’t done it before,” she said. “She will pay us, right?”

_“Y-yes, the same amount as last time—b-but, are you sure, Elizabeth-san? Because I can talk to Cleopatra and do the photo shoot myself, if you want.”_

“It’s perfectly fine, Kiku. Alfred won’t come in until eight, so I have a few hours to spare,” Elizabeth explained.

 _Also, I’m not sure I’m comfortable leaving you alone with Cleopatra_ , she added mentally.  _The way she and that Turkish fellow act around Kiku is just…strange._

_“Ah, okay. See you when you get home.”_

“See you.”

Elizabeth replaced her phone in her bag and inserted her keys into the ignition. As she started to drive home, Elizabeth prayed that Kiku’s eccentric friend wouldn’t make them do anything embarrassing, like the last time.

* * *

When Madeline Williams got home from her job at the diner, it was already seven o’clock. By then, Alfred had already given Meg dinner, a bath and pajamas, and he was just about to tuck her in. But, like most hyper four year olds, Meg was feeling extra adventurous tonight.

“Get back here, ya little rascal!”

By “adventurous”, of course, it means that Meg was playing a late game of hide ‘n go seek…and then run from seeker.

Meg giggled. “You won’t catch me, Uncle Alfie!”

Alfred let out a mock, scandalized gasp and glared playfully. “Oh, you little—you know I hate that nickname!”

When she saw the look on his face, Meg squeaked and ran straight for the linen closet. However, even though she was fast, Alfred was naturally faster—so fast that he was standing in front of the door, before she could even get close to it. Without a second thought, Alfred swiftly grabbed her from under her armpits and brought her up to eye level with a little smirk.

“Heh-heh, gotcha.”

Meg blinked, and then giggled sheepishly.

“Now that you’re not causing havoc around the house,” Alfred said as he tucked Meg under his arm like a football. “You, young lady, are going to bed.”

Meg started to squirm and whine in protest. “Nooo!”

“Yeees!” Alfred mocked.

“I don’t wanna!”

“Too bad, ya gonna.”

“You’re  _mean_ , Uncle Alfwed.”

“Tch, says  _you_.”

Needless to say, when Madeline walked inside her home, it was to a typical scene at the Jones-Williams household.

When he heard the door close, Alfred turned his head and grinned. “Hey, Maddie!”

Meg looked and grinned also, lifting her hand to wave. “Hi Mommy!”

“Hey, you two,” Maddie greeted softly, smiling as she hung up her coat. “How is everything?”

When Meg squirmed some more, Alfred promptly put her down, allowing her to run at full speed towards Maddie, who had already put her hands out to catch her.

“I got a book today, Mommy,” she said as she was picked up.

“Oh? What kind?” Maddie smiled lovingly.

“It had a cat, and a talking fish! Can we get a talking fish, Mommy?”

Madeline almost snorted, but restrained herself.

“I’m not sure the pet store would have them, honey,” she replied. “Besides, wouldn’t Kurojiro get jealous, eh? He’d think that you wouldn’t want to be his friend anymore.”

“No, Kuwojiwo!” Meg gasped, putting her hands on her mouth. She shook her head frantically. “I didn’t think about that!”

“Oh, Meg, it’s okay. I’m sure Kurojiro is alright.” Maddie giggled and hugged her daughter close, which Meg reciprocated by wrapping her small arms around her neck and resting her chin on her shoulder.

Alfred watched the scene, feeling a warm, gooey feeling inside. Whenever he would occasionally have those nights when he felt some semblance of shame and self-disgust, Alfred would look back on moments like this, when his beloved sister and niece would be happy and more importantly safe. Granted, his little family wasn’t perfect. Not only was it…broken, but they most certainly weren’t without their worries. But Maddie and Meg were all Alfred had, and until he found a better job (which was doubtful, considering he hadn’t been able to graduate high school) he was determined to do whatever it took to support them.

Speaking of which…

“Well, Maddie, since you’re home,” he said, walking over to a chair and picking up his jacket. “I’ve gotta get to work soon.”

Madeline stiffened, her violet eyes widening just a fraction. Meg, on the other hand, beamed and looked over at Alfred.

“You’re gonna go save people, wight Uncle Alfwed?” When she didn’t get an answer, she added, “‘Cuz you told me all the great heroes work at night!”

Alfred had also stiffened, for a brief moment, before he shouldered on his bomber jacket. When he turned to look at Meg, his mouth was stretched into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Sure, sweetie. Helping people, it’s what heroes like me do best,” he said, winking and giving the girl a thumbs up.

As Meg grinned wider and clapped her hands, Alfred couldn’t help but cringe internally.  _Well, technically, I_  am  _sort of helping people. Just not in a way that’s socially acceptable._

“Meg, why don’t you go wait for me in the bedroom, okay,” Maddie told Meg as she put her down.

Meg nodded. “Okay, Mommy!” Then she spread her arms out like a bird and ran towards the bedroom the two of them shared, her mouth making plane noises on the way.

Madeline waited until the door was closed before looking at Alfred, whose gaze had averted to the floor. She blinked at him from behind square-cut glasses and bit her lip.

“So, what are the plans for tonight?” she asked, leaning on the back of the couch.

“Just gonna go to this lady’s place.” Alfred hesitated for a moment, then added, “And probably head over to Ivan’s.”

Maddie nodded, biting her lip nervously before she smiled gently. “Be careful, ok, Al.”

Alfred looked at her, and then beamed. “Of course, Maddie. Don’t worry about me, really.”

Madeline watched as he then opened the door and exited the apartment, and she frowned knowingly.  _Easier said than done, eh._

Once Alfred was outside the building, he released the breath that he had been holding ever since his sister floored him with that look. Sometimes Madeline knew more than she let on, and that was something that terrified Alfred. But since she hasn’t kicked him out, disowned him, or anything of the like, it was probably alright for him to delay their potential confrontation for a little longer.

He walked a couple of blocks from his apartment before stopping in front of the bus stop. After checking his watch and looking side to side, Alfred sat on the bench behind him and proceeded to wait for his bus. A few minutes later, he felt his mobile phone vibrate from inside his jacket pocket. Alfred picked it up and glanced at the caller I.D., which caused him to smirk. He pressed the green button and placed the phone near his ear.

“Evening beautiful,” he greeted in a smooth voice.

 _“Hey there sexy,”_  a flamboyant Polish accent replied.  _”Like, are you doing anything right now?”_

“Only thinking of you, of course,” Alfred replied huskily.

_“Oh, you bad boy. Shouldn’t you be focusing on your other clients?”_

“Baby, you know no one can compare with you.”

The man on the other end giggled.  _”You charmer, I knew there was, like, a reason you are my favorite.”_

Alfred laughed, his voice sounding more casual now. “Well, I should hope so. How is everything, Feliks?”

_“Well, I was wondering why I didn’t see you at Ivan’s club earlier.”_

“Aw, you missed me?”

_“Like, duh! I mean, I just got my dress back from the cleaners.”_

“Oh?” Alfred’s eyes gleamed as they narrowed. “This dress doesn’t happen to be the one with the corset and lace, does it?”

Feliks hummed an affirmative, and added with a purr,  _”With the low collar, the ruffles, and of course the matching stockings.”_

Alfred smirked. “You tease; you know what that thing does to me.”

_“I know. Which is why I was going to tell you to, like, get your ass in gear and get over here!”_

“Well, Feliks, as much as I’d love to spend an hour or two with a sexy bitch like yourself,” Alfred chuckled. “I’m sorry, but I’ve actually gotta get to another appointment at the moment. Can you wait until then?”

 _“Like, no.”_  Felix let out a needy whine,  _”I want you now!”_

Alfred thought for a moment. Feliks was a great client, there was no doubt about that. Not only was he easy to interact with, but Felix also paid very well. It was rare that Alfred would ever have a client who would pay him about twenty hundred for a good time. His family was still living off the savings from the last time Feliks and him had spent a night together.

But he had promised Elizabeth he’d be there—and Alfred F. Jones never went back on his promises.

“Sorry, dude, I can’t cancel on this woman,” he said. “But I can recommend you someone else.”

_“Oh? Is he as good as you?”_

“Not sure to be honest. He’s pretty new, so he might be a little jumpy—but I can promise you that he is  _gorgeous_.”

 _“Really?”_ Feliks sounded very intrigued.

“Oh, yeah.” Alfred grinned at the thought of the rather effeminate newbie. “You know that lesbian schoolgirls role play you’ve always wanted to do? I just found you the man for the job.”

 _“Mmm.”_  In his mind’s eye, Alfred saw Feliks lick his lips with a cat-like smirk.  _”That is interesting. Tell me more.”_

“Well, to start, his name is Toris, and he came from Lithuania…”

* * *

“ _Well, whatever happens, I hope that bitch is, like, worth it.”_ Alfred grinned widely as he recalled Feliks final words (which had been spoken with a slight huff) before their conversation ended.

Soon after, the bus had arrived and Alfred rode it until he got to the stop a few blocks away from Elizabeth’s building. He’d walked to the apartment and, instead of calling the apartment to let him in, he had been allowed inside by one of the tenants, who had just walked out and decided to hold the door open for Alfred. (He had no idea that Alfred didn’t live there.) After that, all Alfred had to do was take the elevator up to the apartment, which he had quickly realized had the door open for some reason, allowing some form of pop music to flood the hallway.

And when he had tentatively stepped inside, Alfred discovered something occurring in the living room that caused him to sport the wide, almost dirty grin that was currently on his face.

“Alright, now Elizabeth, just lean forward…as if you’re going to kiss Kiku,” a tall, thin, yet also voluptuous woman slowly instructed as she held a big camera on top of a tripod. She had wavy brown hair that went down to her shoulders and a pair of languid green eyes that seemed to gleam with amusement at what she viewed through the camera. Along with a white beret on her head, she was wearing a cream shirt that rode down her shoulder, revealing smooth olive skin and a bra strap, and a pair of skin tight black leggings.

But the sexy photographer wasn’t the only person who’d caught his attention.

“I still don’t understand why we have to do these types of pictures,” Elizabeth griped with a hot pink flush on her cheeks—one that was definitely well-deserved. She was wearing a school uniform that consisted of a white blouse, a red tie, and a plaid jumper, which had a skirt that just looked a little too short. To put the icing on the cake, her hair had been put up into two pig tails, and she was wearing a pair of red-rimmed glasses. She was on the floor, on her hands and knees, looking almost similar to a cat.

“It’s all for art’s sake,” the photographer replied with a relaxed smile. “Isn’t that right, Kiku?”

As she was being straddled by Elizabeth on the floor, Kiku—all decked out in the same uniform, along with a beige sweater vest—blushed brightly, her big eyes as wide as dinner plates.

“Um, s-sure, Cleopatra-san,” Kiku stuttered, her eyes darting back and forth between Cleopatra and Elizabeth, before settling on the latter for the photo. And if Alfred didn’t know any better, he would say that those eyes were focusing a lot on Elizabeth’s chest, which was almost pushed against Kiku’s own.

Needless to say, Alfred’s grin was threatening to split his face in two.

 _…Did I somehow take a turn straight into Fan Service Central or something?_ He thought, chuckling to himself.

The sound caught the attention of Cleopatra, who merely glanced at Alfred in the doorway. Her eyes narrowed, glinting with amusement, before she looked back at her subjects.

“Kiku…would it be alright if we tried something?” she asked after she took a few more pictures.

Kiku nodded, which made Cleopatra smile almost sultrily. “Would you please get on top of Elizabeth?”

While Elizabeth looked just a little confused at the question, Kiku was blushing so much her head looked like it would explode.

“ _E-e-eh?_ B-but, Cleo, I-I can’t…that would be so—”

“Just do what I taught you last night.”

The response was automatic. With a small grunt, Kiku arched her back and flipped her and Elizabeth over, causing the latter to yelp in shock. As Kiku settled between her legs (which were revealed even more as the skirt rode down) and pinned her wrists to the floor, Elizabeth stared upward with wide, stunned eyes. In the movement, her glasses had become askew on her face, and her cheeks had immediately lit up in a bright pink. She also panted softly, her chest heaving against Kiku’s.

 _…Did I say Fan Service Central? I meant Fetish Heaven._ Alfred’s eyes lidded as he smirked.

As if realizing what she’d just done, Kiku went into a panic. “Ah, Elizabeth-san! I’m so, so, so sorry!”

Despite her obvious embarrassment, Elizabeth smiled up at her friend. “It’s all right, Kiku, I’m fine. Besides, it’s for the picture, right?”

“H-hai, for the picture…” Kiku trailed off as her face lit up in bright red. Once again, Alfred could swear he saw her eyes linger on certain places of Elizabeth’s body, including her lips…

 _Well, that woman (Cleopatra, right?)_  did  _say she taught her that move_ , Alfred mused, stroking his chin.  _I thought I sensed something about Kiku._

Once she took the picture, Cleopatra looked at her digital camera and saw the provocative image the two young women made up. Her otherwise lazy gaze sparkled with warmth as her cheeks flushed.

“Absolutely gorgeous,” she said out loud.

“You can say that again,” Alfred spoke up, finally making his presence known.

“Jones?” Elizabeth squeaked as she (at last) noticed him. Above her, Kiku blinked widely at Alfred, muttering a Japanese curse under her breath.

“I was wondering when you’d…say something,” Cleopatra said with a smile.

“What can I say?” Smiling, Alfred shrugged. “I wanted to see what direction your… _art_  would go.” He glanced at the two “models” and gave them a playful wink.

Elizabeth and Kiku quickly scrambled to stand up, both of them blushing. After an awkward moment, Elizabeth cleared her throat and promptly began to remove the ties from her hair and then her glasses.

“You’re a lot earlier than I expected, Mr. Jones,” she said calmly.

Much to her surprise, Alfred looked at her and then burst out laughing. He covered his eyes with an arm, and then waved his other hand in Elizabeth’s face.

“Oh God, I can’t take it,” he removed his arm and grinned at her gleefully. “Could you do that again? Only this time when you take off the glasses, shake your hair a little and say,” Alfred removed his glasses and shook his head a little before he smirked with lidded eyes and purred, “‘Excuse me, Mr. Jones, but do you know what the penalty is for an overdue book’?”

When Alfred put his glasses back on, he was faced with three very confused looking women. They even had their heads tilted to the side, staring at him as if he had come from another planet. Alfred laughed nervously.

“It’s a joke, from that show, ‘Bones’,” when he was met with silence, he continued, “You know, that show with Buffy’s on-off vampire boyfriend and that woman who studies the human bones of corpses and is  _extremely_ socially awkward, yet also pretty damn sexy, especially when she wears glasses…?”

Elizabeth then leaned on her left leg and, placing a hand on her jutting hip, gave him a flat look.

“Right, shutting up now.” Alfred awkwardly cleared his throat and smirked pointedly at Elizabeth and Kiku. “On an entirely different note, what’s with the costumes? Not that I mind, of course, but still,” he added with a shrug.

Elizabeth twitched.  _Does this man have no shame?…Oh, right; male prostitute._

“We were doing it to help our friend, Cleopatra-san,” Kiku answered, her composure returned. “She’s a photographer for a magazine…what’s it called again Cleopatra-san?”

Cleopatra didn’t look up as she examined the pictures on her camera. “ _Beautiful Femmes of the Month._ ”

 _Femmes, huh? Well, that makes sense for Kiku, but as for Lizzie…_ Alfred smirked at Elizabeth.

“Why, Miss Kirkland,” he feigned surprise. “I had no idea you swung that way…”

“W-wha—no!” Blushing, Elizabeth flailed her arms in furious embarrassment. “I-it-it’s not like that at all!”

Alfred laughed.  _Cute…_

With her face completely red, Elizabeth pressed her palms against his chest and began pushing him towards the apartment door.

“Get out, out, OUT!” she cried, grunting with effort.

Greatly amused by her struggle, Alfred grinned and allowed himself to be pushed out of the apartment, even when the door practically slammed in his face. He shook his head and leaned against the wall. Something told him that it would be a good night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feliks is coming in the next chapter! I just need to edit it a little, because I've learned a lot when it comes to expressions of gender and how people do so. I want to make sure I get it right.


	6. Felix

After about twenty minutes later, the door opened again, revealing a smiling Kiku, which sort of shocked Alfred, to be honest. After all, she hadn’t seemed so welcoming the last time he’d visited. Of course, if he saw his best friend pinned down by a mysterious man, he would have been just as hostile (minus the samurai sword, though).

“Elizabeth-san is changing now,” she said. “Would you be alright waiting inside?”

“Y-yeah, sure,” Alfred replied, also smiling. Kiku’s face was so blank when she looked at him, even with her polite smile. He couldn’t help but wonder what she was thinking.

Kiku took a step aside, allowing Alfred to have enough room to re-enter the apartment. As he stepped inside, he quickly took notice of the living room being back to normal, with Cleopatra standing inside, packing away her photography equipment. She put her hands on her hips and glanced around the room with a thoughtful expression. Alfred glanced back at Kiku, who also happened to stare at Cleopatra, her brown eyes misted over with an emotion he’d seen before, in one of his other clients. He smiled knowingly.

“I’ll be honest, I never thought you and Lizzie to be the modeling types,” he mused, driving Kiku from her wandering thoughts. “I mean, I thought you guys wrote porn.”

Kiku blushed a bright pink and turned her head to hide a small, contemplating smile, twiddling her index fingers together.

Then she cleared her throat, stood up straight, and looked at Alfred a bit more sternly.

“Writing and publishing erotica is our main career,” she explained. “However, we do take on part-time jobs as well. And if we are offered an extra sum of money, in exchange of a favor, then we do it.”

She then smiled. “Besides, Cleopatra-san is a friend, and she likes to take our pictures.”

He blinked, tilting his head. “So, this wasn’t the first time?”

Kiku shook her head. “No. Actually, we’ve done it several other times. Here, you can take a look.” She pulled out a black binder and handed it to him.

Alfred opened it and his eyes widened. It was an album containing all the pictures that Cleopatra had taken of Elizabeth and Kiku (well, admittedly, it was mostly of Kiku, but Alfred figured that was a given). He slowly leafed through the album, a dirty grin growing on his face with each photo he saw.

At one photo of Kiku, he let out a soft wolf whistle and gently elbowed her shoulder, winking at her playfully.

“Looking good,” he said.

Kiku leaned over to look and flushed with embarrassment. It was a picture of her dressed in a purple and pink kimono that was slightly open to partially reveal her cleavage, one side slipping down to reveal her pale shoulder. Her hair hadn’t been put up, but a little cherry blossom clip held her bangs back. She was crouching down rather provocatively, as if to pounce at her audience, and her eyes were hooded as she smiled seductively at the camera. All that was needed to complete the “come hither” look was her to curl her index finger to beckon her victims.

With a light groan, Kiku hid her face in her hands. “D-don’t look at me, please!”

Alfred pouted, his eyes twinkling. “But you look so cuuute!” he cooed.

“E-eh?”

“No, wait, better yet,  _hot_.”

Red-faced, Kiku gaped up at him, her eyes widening in horror. It made Alfred laugh. Both she and Lizzie would be fun to tease, he concluded.

“Seriously, dude, it’s like you’re just asking to be jumped,” he chuckled, and then smirked, leaning forward to whisper slyly to Kiku. “Or  _maybe_ , you wanna jump the one behind the camera.”

Kiku stiffened, her cheeks flaring up. Against her will, she glanced over at Cleopatra (who had just bent over to pick up a piece of her equipment), and Alfred followed her gaze knowingly. When she quickly averted her gaze and saw the American waggling his eyebrows at her, Kiku glared.

“That was out of bounds, Jones-san,” she almost yelled, waving her finger reproachfully. “You are not allowed to do that again!”

Alfred laughed and put a hand up in defense. “Okay, okay. I gotcha, sweetie.”

“You’re not allowed to call me names, either!”

“Understood. Heh, sorry.”

He turned his gaze back to the album and then turned the page. His eyes widened at the next picture and his heart nearly stopped.

“Fuck,” he swore softly, his cheeks flushing.

Kiku noticed his reaction and tentatively leaned over to look. When she saw the picture, her cheeks went crimson and her eyes widened. Then she cleared her throat and shifted her gaze away.

“Ah, yes.  _That_  photo.”

“…Do you girls have this fetish for school girl uniforms or something?”

Kiku scratched the back of her head. “Those uniforms are actually ours, mementos from high school. Since Cleopatra-san knew that we still kept them, well…”

“Oh, so  _she’s_  the one with the fetish.”

She huffed, lifting her chin almost snobbishly. “ _You’re_  the one looking.”

Alfred chuckled. “Only because I had no idea that Lizzie was so… _flexible_.”

This made Kiku also smile, her eyes twinkling. “She used to be part of the yoga club in university. And before that, she’d spent a portion of her childhood in gymnastics.”

“ _Nice_.”

Alfred smirked as he looked at the photograph. Elizabeth was in the school uniform, her hair still tied into those pigtails and her eyes covered with those red-rimmed glasses. She was sitting down and looking slightly away from the camera, her cheeks splashed with an embarrassed pink. One leg, covered in a long black stocking, was lifted high above her head, which would have easily revealed her underwear, if the picture had been taken at a different angle. Her other leg, which was bent at the knee, served to be a perfect, albeit teasing censor.

“She doesn’t just pose in her school uniform, does she?” he asked (purely out of curiosity, of course).

“Oh, no,” Kiku replied, sounding almost too enthusiastic. “You haven’t even seen her in her nurse’s outfit, yet.”

Alfred nearly choked on his spit.  _…Nurse?_

“—then there was that one time she dressed as a pirate, that one was nice.” Smiling dreamily, Kiku placed a hand on her flushed cheek and closed her eyes in a swoon. “Oh, and then there was that time with that corset…”

 _That_  caused whatever that was left of Alfred’s brain to short circuit, his eyes widening. His grip on the binder tightened.

“…Is it alright if I just…borrow this for a while?”

Kiku actually glared at him and snatched the album from his hand, holding it against her chest possessively. “No.”

“ _What_  are you two doing?”

Both Kiku and Alfred turned their heads to see Elizabeth, clothed in a wool sweater and a loose pair of pants, looking at them suspiciously, with her hands on her hips. When Kiku blushed and diverted her eyes out of embarrassment and Alfred just gave her a look consisting of lidded eyes and a smirk, which just made her eyes narrow. Elizabeth had been worried that Kiku and Alfred wouldn’t get along, considering how much their personalities seemed to clash with each other, but when she saw them looking through the album, Elizabeth felt relieved when it became obvious that the two had discovered something in common. What that was remained unknown, but she felt suspicious all the same.

“Nothing,” Kiku squeaked out her answer, hiding the binder behind her back with a sense of desperation.

Much to both of their confusion, Alfred started to hum a soft, cheerful tune, one that seemed to contrast with his smirk. Elizabeth’s eye twitched slightly.  _What is that git up to…?_

Cleopatra stepped out of the living room, holding her equipment in her hands. She smiled genially at them, especially at Kiku.

“Are you ready to go, Kiku? We still have time to make it to the restaurant.”

Kiku blinked. “Ah! Yes, just a minute.”

As Cleopatra opened the door for them to leave, Kiku turned back to Elizabeth and Alfred with a smile.

“I’ll be back in a few hours, all right, Elizabeth-san?” she said, to which Elizabeth nodded curtly. At Alfred, she bowed. “It was a pleasure seeing you again, Jones-san.”

Alfred winked and gave her a mock salute. “Pleasure’s all mine, ma’am.”

Despite herself, Kiku flushed happily at being referred to so properly. She bowed her head again and followed Cleopatra out the door. The beginning of a miscellaneous conversation, concerning the particular restaurant they were going to dine at, was heard briefly before the door shut.

For a moment, there was an awkward silence.

Then Alfred started to hum again.

Elizabeth blinked at him curiously. “What are you humming?”

He regarded her wryly and sang, in a mock British accent, “I like a girl in uniform, school uniform. ~”

Flushing angrily, Elizabeth visibly bristled ( _Just like a cat_ , Alfred thought with a chuckle), her eyes widening. She glared up into Alfred’s amused gaze and opened and closed her mouth, trying to find the words to yell at him. Finally, she coughed into her fist, smoothed down her hair, and re-claimed her composure (well, some of it).

Elizabeth then calmly gestured to the living room. “Shall we?”

“Let’s.”

Alfred’s smile remained on as he walked in. (For a moment, Elizabeth wondered if it was a permanent feature of his.) Just like the week before, he sat down on the couch and she sat down on the chair, picking up her notepad. They both stared at each other expectantly for a few moments, the male prostitute and his odd client, before Elizabeth started to develop a tick in her eyebrow.

“Well?” she said.

Alfred blinked, looking confused. “Well, what?”

“Aren’t you going to start talking?”

“Oh, right! That. Uh…”

Elizabeth leaned forward to listen, her eyes gleaming enthusiastically, despite her little frown.

Meanwhile, Alfred was looking up at the ceiling, humming in thought.

And then he shrugged.

“I got nothin’. Sorry.”

Elizabeth gawked.  _That…that wanker!_

He opened one eye to watch her deflate with a little, petulant pout. She looked so much like a child prevented from getting any candy that he couldn’t help but smile.

 _You dirty old woman, you_ , Alfred snickered.

Then he closed his eyes and finally began his story.

 

 

* * *

Feliks (he has a last name, but I can never pronounce it right) is a rather interesting case. In contrast with Mr. Thompson, he has no problem with his sexuality. If anything, it would be pretty difficult to hide it, considering his career.

In a building on the south side of town, there is a company (whose name shall remain anonymous) that specializes in designing and modeling the latest fashions to distribute in main stream stores, such as Macy’s and JCPenny’s.

“No, no, and, like, no, Christine! This style is sooo last season. How do you expect my girls to make love to that run-way when they’re behind a season?”

Feliks is not only the CEO of that building, but he is also one of the main fashion designers. He stands at about five foot four and is twenty-one years old, a pretty young age for a CEO, I think. However, because he’s such a demanding, openly opinionated boss who still manages to get the work done, I don’t think anyone really has room to criticize him.

Even so, Feliks has still managed to develop some insecurities, many of which, like I said, not having to do with his sexuality—but rather his appearance.

**“...”**

Okay, I see that you’re a little confused. Don’t worry, I’ll explain in a minute.

Actually, the first time I came into contact with Feliks was last year, when I was nineteen. We met up in a restaurant, a fancy five-star one with a room that was dimmed with candle light—the perfect place for a meeting between a prostitute and his client, I guess you could say.

I was a bit nervous about the meeting, yet also excited at the same time. Unlike Mr. Thompson, Feliks hadn’t gone through the process of going to Ivan’s place to choose a prostitute, and then rent a room. Instead, he had called in ahead a week before and had arranged for a “date”. He hadn’t picked me; I’d just been assigned to him. Sometimes work is like that, though. The anticipation is part of what makes it interesting.

Anyway, so I entered the restaurant, feeling just a bit out of place. I don’t really like wearing a suit; I never feel comfortable in one. The one I was wearing didn’t even belong to me. Francis had been the one to hand it to me when he’d found out about me meeting up with Feliks.

“Feliks?  _The_  Feliks?” he’d cried out, jumping joyfully. “Mon Dieu, Alfred, we have to get you ready! We can’t have you seeing such a man, especially with the way you look now.”

“Hey, what’s wrong with my—?”

“Ah, don’t even try to fight it, mon ami. You will lose.” Francis had then paused to think. “Now, you’re alright with Armani, oui?”

“Um…I guess?”

Before I could even try to resist it, Francis (along with Gilbert and Antonio, his evil minions) had shoved me inside a fancy suit, complete with a noose-like tie and my hair slicked back—

**“…It’s possible to actually gel _that_  down?”**

Hey, don’t knock the cowlick! Believe it or not, it’s one of my selling points…for reasons that I won’t say.

**“Really.”**

Yes, really—can I finish my story now?

**“By all means.”**

( **Ahem** ) As I was  _saying_ , after I’d been put into a dark, fancy suit and had my hair fixed up, I went to the restaurant. The minute I walked through the doors, I was greeted by a host and asked if I had a reservation. I told him that I was with the party that Feliks had put under his name, and then was told which table to go to.

When I walked up to the table, I saw a man with chin-length blonde hair and green eyes. He was also wearing a suit and looked even less enthusiastic about wearing it than I did. Looking down at his empty plate, he tugged back his sleeve to check his expensive watch. Then, almost looking desperate, he picked his head up and glanced around the restaurant, searching for someone.

I knew that I didn’t have to ask who he was, but I still did it anyway out of politeness.

“Mr. Feliks?” I spoke up, causing the man to look at me, his eyes widening. I smiled widely at him and stuck out my hand. “Alfred Jones. I believe we have an appointment.”

A light flush rose to his cheeks as his jaw dropped open. (Sound familiar, Lizzie?) Then he shook his head and gave me a very wide smile, one that showed his gleaming pearly whites.

“Hello, Mr. Jones,” Feliks shook my hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Ah, yes. You’re probably confused about the way he talks, right? Trust me, I’m getting to that…

“Pleasure to meet you too, sir. You can just call me Alfred, though, okay,” I said with a wink, which caused him to flush more.

“Right, Alfred,” he said, almost experimentally. Then he waved to the chair across from him. “Please sit!”

I took my seat and asked him, “I’m not late am I?”

“Not at all. In fact, I was too early. See, I have this tendency to come to events fashionably early, rather than late, because, unlike a lot of other people, I think it’s very rude to keep someone waiting, at least for a long time, especially if it’s someone you know.” Feliks’ eyes widened with panic. “Not that I think you’re rude or anything, I just—”

 _Aw, he’s a rambler. How cute_ , I chuckled in amusement. When he continued to talk up a storm, I reached over and gently laid a hand over his. Feliks stiffened, his face glowing, and I calmly rubbed my thumb against his knuckles.

“Feliks, it’s okay,” I assured him. “There’s no need to be nervous, not around me.”

Feliks stared at my hand, which admittedly looked a lot bigger than his, and he licked his lips.

“Right, of course,” he almost squeaked.

After giving his hand a light squeeze, I let him go and folded my hands, resting my elbows on the table.

“Awesome. Is it alright if we order now, then? I’m starvin’.”

“Yes, right away. Oh, waiter…!”

During the time before and after we got our food, Feliks decided to tell me about himself. He talked about how he was born in, and used to live in Poland, and how he and his family moved to the states when he became a teenager. When he seemed to become more confident and comfortable around me, he started to talk about his career as a fashion designer and how work had been that day. As he did, his voice gradually shifted into that Valley Girl inflection I described before. (The state that Feliks’ family had moved to was California, so that explains  _that_.)

Contrary to how I interacted with Mr. Thompson, being with Feliks felt a lot more…natural, I guess you can say. It was more like a date than just another job. I felt at ease enough to actually laugh at some parts of the conversation, as well as add my own two cents. I think the reason for that might have been that me and Feliks were so close, age wise. It was a lot easier to connect with him than a lot of my other male clients, which are usually older.

Of course, eventually, the dinner had to end. By that time, Feliks had already loosened up, even managing to get the nerve to hold my hand as we walked out towards his car. As we continued onto his penthouse, however, Feliks started to close up again. Even before he opened his door, his green eyes started to dart back and forth, as if to search for any spies.

Naturally, I couldn’t help but wonder about his behavior. What was it that Feliks was so desperate to hide?

A lot of the walls were painted in bright colors ranging from bright pink to lavender purple. Occasionally, there would be a fancy, rather homoerotic painting depicting something about Ancient Rome or Greece. Along with the paintings, there were also plenty of pictures of naked men, many who were bent in positions I’d only dreamed of trying. In the living room, a cursive quote from Oscar Wilde was painted in black paint. Needless to say, walking into Feliks’ place was like walking into a gay club—though on a smaller (not to mention cleaner) scale.

Feliks led me to his bedroom by the hand, then stopped near his bed. He looked up at me with a shy, almost embarrassed smile.

“Um, is it, like, okay if you just…” He glanced at his bed and swallowed. “Wait here? I’ve gotta freshen up.”

I shrugged. “Sure.”

Feliks bit his lip and stared at a spot on the wall. “I-if you want, like, anything—y-you can just make yourself at home, alright.”

I smiled at him and then placed my hand on his shoulder, which made him tense.

“Feliks, relax,” I told him. “I told you, there’s no need to be nervous around me.”

When he still didn’t look at me, I moved my hand from his shoulder and cupped his jaw, tilting his head back so we could see eye to eye. I removed my glasses and smirked seductively into his blushing face, leaning close enough to brush my lips against his.

“Tonight is all about you, baby. Remember that.”

Another dreamy smile spread across Feliks’ face as he leaned into my touch. His cheeks flushed crimson as he licked his lips, and then he smiled.

“Okay, just wait here, like I said,” he instructed, walking backwards to exit his room. “I’ll only be a minute.”

“No problem,” I purred in a way that can only be described as predatory. “We have all night.”

Feliks blushed harder and then practically scrambled out of the room. When I saw that he was gone, I let out a laugh.  _I like him_ , I decided.  _He’s kinda cute._

Since I had no idea how long Feliks would be gone, I decided to explore his bedroom for a bit, to try and get an idea of his personality. I had already concluded that he seemed to be the really shy type, at least around new people, but I still wasn’t sure how he’d be in bed. A few hours ago, I had been certain that he would be the top (for male prostitutes, it’s sort of a given for a client to fuck you instead of vice versa), but now I wasn’t so sure. Then, of course, I had to figure out what sort of kinks he would like. (Granted, clients often tell you while they’re fucking you, but I like to figure it out ahead of time.)

As you can guess, Feliks’ bedroom was as flamboyant as the rest of his apartment, especially his bed (which is heart-shaped and very, very pink). Other than that though, there wasn’t anything too revealing.

Then something caught my eye, something in the closet. I put my glasses back on and tilted my head. Something shiny caught on the light and gleamed. Curious.

Looking at the door cautiously, I walked over to the closet and opened it up.

At first, I didn’t really notice it, despite how huge the closet was (it was almost like another bedroom…only without the bed, heh). All I saw were shoes—expensive high-heeled, big shot, women shoes. They weren’t such a big deal at first glance. But then I noticed the dresses that covered either side of the closet. There were so many, I swear, even RuPaul would be jealous.

Now, despite my reservations on me dressing in drag, I have no problem with other men doing it. Many of them have the perfect figure for it, as well as the perfect attitude. Sometimes, they’re so good at it that you wouldn’t be able to tell that they were male until they took out their dicks.

And as I looked at all those dresses—the short ones, the long ones, the elegant, and the slutty types—my head tilted to the side and my eyes widened. All I could do was picture Feliks, in all his effeminacy, dressing up and wearing all those lovely outfits for me, along with perfectly applied make-up and…

Well, needless to say, because of Feliks I sort of learned that I had a thing for men in drag—and by extension, trans ladies—which really shouldn’t have surprised me, considering how close I am to Feli.

And I’ve gotta say, I didn’t mind.

And Feliks found this out too, when he came back and saw me sitting on his bed with a wide grin and a pretty blue dress in my hands. His jaw dropped open in stunned horror as his cheeks flared.

I lifted the dress slyly. “Care to explain, Mr. Feliks?”

Feliks swallowed and looked away, embarrassed. “…You shouldn’t hold it like that. You might tear the fabric.”

“My apologies.”

I bowed my head and set the dress back on the bed. Feliks dashed over and picked up the dress, holding it protectively to his chest. He still didn’t look at me. I stared at him for a few moments, my eyes narrowed in confusion.

“Why so embarrassed?”

For a few moments, Feliks just bit his lip and held the dress closer to him. Then he said, in a voice so soft, it was almost like a child.

“It’s not like I want to become a woman.”

I blinked at that, still feeling confused. Feliks looked at me and then licked his lip nervously.

“I just really like wearing dresses,” he said. “And I totally love make-up and shoes, men, and generally acting like those sleazy women in Sex in the City. And while I’m not particularly bothered by the idea of ‘becoming’ a woman, I, well—”

When he looked at me again, his green eyes shining with vulnerability, I smiled and waved for him to continue. Feliks then smiled, hardening his eyes with resolve.

“Dressing this way doesn’t make me a woman.”

I nodded, understanding. But then I wondered.

“Feliks, has anyone ever told you otherwise?” I asked.

He shifted his feet and rubbed his arm. Then, with a sigh, he sat next to me and nodded.

“Like, almost every guy I’ve ever tried to pick up becomes turned off when they see that I like to dress up,” Feliks shrugged, his eyes narrowing. “Some have even gotten angry about it, and I totally can’t understand why.”

“Were any of those guys straight?” I asked, because it wouldn’t be the first time a straight guy would have been fooled into thinking that the lady he was kissing was actually a dude.

Feliks snorted. “Like, please. I never go for the straights. I appreciate them from afar, sure, but I would never pursue a lost cause.  _Sooo_  not worth the drama.” He flipped his hand into a limp wrist movement, as if to emphasize his point.

I laughed. “So you mostly frequent gay bars?”

“Like, duh!”

“Okay, okay, just making sure, ha-ha. But that doesn’t happen all the time, does it?”

“Well, no,” Feliks replied, his eyes dimming. “But it happens enough…”

I nodded. After a moment of thinking, I said, “Maybe they feel betrayed in some way. I’ve known a few lesbians who’ve ostracized a friend after he went through his transition. They felt he had become a contradiction or something. Those guys could be thinking something similar.”

“Or they think I’m a freak.”

“Or that. But I’m trying to be a little optimistic.”

He snorted, but then paused, frowning. “Or maybe there really _is_ something wrong with me.”

Frowning, I cupped his jaw again and turned his head to look him in the eye. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Feliks. And there would still be nothing wrong with you if you even regarded yourself as a woman. Trust me.”

I gently trailed my hand from his jaw to down his smooth neck, and then back up to tangle in his hair. With a few strands between my fingers, I stroked his cheek tenderly, making him blush. I smiled.

“Personally, I think you’re beautiful as you are,” I told him softly, and then I smirked lightly. “But I think you’d be even more beautiful if you put a few of those dresses on.”

“W-what?” Feliks squeaked.

“You heard me.” I leaned forward and brushed my lips against his earlobe. “I want you to show me—show me how gorgeous you can really be.”

His breath hitched and Feliks stared at me with wide, disbelieving eyes. I gave him a reassuring smile and nodded, to show I was telling the truth. After a few blinks, Feliks finally, tentatively smiled. He stood up, still grasping at his dress, and walked to the closet. When he opened it, he turned to give me a glare.

“If you laugh, I swear, I will totally make your capital Warsaw.”

As Feliks walked inside, I started to laugh at his threat. I still have no idea what that even means.

 

 

* * *

Alfred paused and looked over at Elizabeth, who had leaned forward with her eyes gleaming and her ears eager to listen. He was slightly surprised to see a sweet smile and a light flush on her face. Almost immediately, Alfred found himself liking that smile, and he felt an odd sort of want to see it more often. (Though he knew that it would probably be unlikely, since Elizabeth seemed so perpetually serious.)

“You really did that?” she asked.

“W-well, yeah,” Alfred shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just don’t think it’s fair that people should hide who they are, even if I personally don’t understand their experiences. Feliks still wants to be free to express himself, but he’s afraid of what people everyone would think, how they would judge him. And I’m pretty sure he’s not the only one.”

Elizabeth’s smile widened for a moment before she re-placed her professional frown and sat up straight. She had more questions to ask, since gender related issues often fascinated her, but she kept silent. Alfred wasn’t done with his story, and Elizabeth really wanted to know what happened next. So, she waved for him to continue.

And with a knowing stare, Alfred did.

 

 

* * *

Throughout the next hour or so, Feliks spent the time trying on dresses and doing a light catwalk for me, which I enjoyed very, very much. I had been right; Feliks definitely had the body for it, not to mention the flair. And with each dress he put on, I couldn’t help either the grin on my face or the reactions that spewed from my mouth.

“Whoo, you go, beautiful,” I once cried out, shortly followed by a wolf whistle.

Of course, any praise I said was immediately replied with a blush—but Feliks started to regain some of his previous confidence. He began to smile more; he would occasionally kick out a long leg (which remained hairy, by the way, but that didn’t really bother me) and show some thigh; and he often blew me a kiss, his eyes glazing seductively.

Of course, eventually, the fashion show ended—and it ended with a small dress.

Feliks stepped out of the closet wearing it, with a pair of black stiletto heels. The dress was a shade of red that was almost sinful, with a black plaid pattern and black lace on the trimmings. The top part was a bodice with the string on the front, wrapping around Feliks’ abdomen snugly. It had cups that were supposed to hold a pair of breasts, but for obvious reasons, Feliks only filled their place with plastic, fake boobs. The dress flowed out on the bottom, the hem of the black underskirt resting about mid-thigh. Feliks’ hair was still down, flowing easily over his lithe shoulders and though there was a flush on his face he was smiling.

My mouth watered at the sight as I smiled, imagining my hands lifting up the skirts and…

_Damn._

“Like, what do you think?” Feliks asked, drawing me from my wandering thoughts. He twirled around slightly and looked at himself in the large mirror in his room. “This was a gift from an old friend of mine. She’s a big fan of the whole Gothic Lolita thing, and I’ve never had a chance to try it.”

Undeterred by my still stunned silence, he struck a pose and pouted at his reflection, folding his hands behind his head. As he did some more poses, I managed to stand up from the bed and step close behind him. I lightly wrapped an arm around his waist and breathed hotly against his ear, which made him stiffen.

“It’s perfect.” I kissed the spot underneath his earlobe. “You’re perfect.”

Glancing at the mirror, I saw Feliks blush furiously and my pants tightened just a bit. I then pressed hot, opened mouthed kisses down his neck, only pausing to suckle on the hollow connecting his neck and shoulder. Feliks shivered and sighed with pleasure, leaning his head back to give me more skin to kiss, suckle, but not mark. I never leave marks. My hands then started to wander, one sneaking in through his bodice (tossing the fake breasts to the side) to squeeze his nipples and the other lifting his skirt to caress any patch of skin I can find—except, of course, the area Feliks wanted me to touch the most.

He let out a needy moaned and arched into me, his eyes fluttering shut.

“Alfred, come on,” he demanded as he began to grind teasingly against my hips, brushing against my growing arousal. “I’m not gonna, like, pay for you to just tease me.”

I growled playfully in his ear. “So you wanna play then? Fine, we’ll play.”

With a sudden movement that made him yelp, his eyes popping open, I spun Feliks around in my arms and pressed him against the mirror. I dove for his neck, alternating between sweet, hot kisses and hungry nips, before I pressed my knee between his legs and grinded it into his hips. Feliks whimpered, putting his hands on my shoulders and squeezing them. I ran my hand up his skirt and squeezed his ass before pulling him closer to my body, rocking gently, but enough to let him feel my erection.

“Feel this, gorgeous?” I purred in his ear. “If anyone’s the tease here, it’s you.”

Feliks moaned and wrapped his arms around my neck, tangling one hand in my hair. He lifted one of his legs to wrap around my waist and pulled me back to look at him. His pale green eyes were gleaming lustfully and the grin on his mouth was hungry. He pulled me forward until our noses brushed and our hot breaths mingled.

“Fuck me,” he hissed against my lips.

I raised an eyebrow, trying to play the submissive and willing prostitute. “Are you certain, sir?”

“I’ve totally never been surer in my life.” Feliks rocked his hips roughly into mine. “Fuck. Me.”

“As you wish, sir.”

With a light smirk I used my hand to lift and wrap his other leg around my waist. Then I smoothed my hands over his ass and hoisted him up, which made Feliks let out a breathy laugh. He leaned forward, parting his lips to give me a deep kiss, but I turned my head to the side to avoid it.

With curious eyes, Feliks tentatively kissed my cheek.

“I don’t kiss my clients,” I answered the silent question.

Feliks looked at me for a moment, and then nodded in grim understanding. It was almost as if he’d just remembered that this was only business. I think he might have been hoping for something more. A lot of clients tend to feel that way…

I tilted my head, offering my neck with a smile, which Feliks returned before he pressed his mouth to my skin. When he suckled lightly on a sensitive spot, I groaned in pleasure and threaded my hands through his hair to keep him in place. Just because it was business that didn’t mean we couldn’t have fun with it.

“Am I allowed to mark you?” he panted into my neck.

“Will cost you extra,” I warned lightly.

Feliks nodded and nipped at the spot, sending white hot heat straight down to my cock. In response, I trailed my hands up his chiseled thighs, all the way up to his tantalizing ass (which was barely covered in the lacy underwear, by the way), and I squeezed, molding the globes in my hand. Feliks moaned and grinded against me, his erection poking through his dress; I smirked hungrily and returned the sentiment. I was just as turned on.

I walked over to the bed and laid Feliks down, hovering over him on my hands and knees. As I kissed and licked a line down from his jaw line to his collar bone, I quickly worked on loosening the looped strings in the front. When I was done, Feliks made quick work of shoving off my suit jacket and practically ripping my tie off. With eyes gleaming he trailed his hands down my arms, heatedly caressing my chest and back through my shirt.

Then he smirked and turned us around so he was on top, straddling my stomach.

Feliks quickly unbuttoned the shirt and got to work on touching and tasting as much skin as possible. As he kissed and suckled all across my chest, occasionally lingering one of my nipples, I moaned and gripped his hips. When Feliks started to lick down my abs, I pulled him up and flipped us over again.

“Hey, now,” I smirked down at him. “Shouldn’t I be the one servicing you?”

Feliks scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Then service me. I can’t wait.”

“Oh, believe me, I can tell.”

As if to show him proof, I slipped a hand under his skirt and cupped his arousal, pushing a pleasured gasp from his lips. Then I nibbled on his collarbone, reaching behind him to unclasp the clips still holding the dress together. Feliks grabbed my wrist and shook his head, almost desperately.

“Keep it on,” he whispered in my ear.

I paused to look at him, then nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Since removing the dress was not an option, I decided to just slip the straps from his arms and rolled the bodice down to reveal a bit of his chest, which I immediately latched mouth onto. Feliks shuddered with pleasure and pulled at my shirt.

“Off,” he commanded in a hiss.

I nodded my head and sat up to shake off my shirt, carelessly tossing it to a corner of the room. Feliks sat up and ran his hands all around me, starting from my chest, lingering a few moments on my arms and shoulders, and then ending with my hips. Licking his lips like a child wanting candy, Feliks eyed the bulge in my pants and his eyes darted to mine, asking a silent question.

Grinning knowingly, I nodded at him, to which Feliks smirked widely. He slowly unbuckled my belt and slid it out of its loops before tossing it over his shoulder. Then he unzipped me, his hands trembling—not out of nerves, however. From the hungry look in his eye, it was easy to conclude how anxious he was. When it was open, Feliks reached his hand inside my boxers and drew me out with a light gasp.

Grunting with restraint, I watched as Feliks ran a finger down my cock and started to stroke me, his thumb running across my swollen tip. Biting his bottom lip, he looked up at me coyly.

“Why, Alfred,” he said, feigning shock. “Is  _this_  going inside me?”

I smiled. “Only if you want it to Feliks.”

“Oh! Well, that won’t be a problem then.” Feliks then laid back, his legs spread wide, and lidded his eyes beckoningly. “Fuck me.”

Pressing myself on top of him, I suckled his earlobe and rubbed his inner thigh, dangerously close to his need. “What an impatient man I have tonight. Surely you want me to do something for you first?”

Feliks flushed and thought for a moment, then, “Your mouth.”

I grinned. “Of course.”

After moving down to his hips I lifted his skirts up to reveal the lacy lingerie that confined Feliks. I gave the bulge inside them a light kiss (one that caused Feliks to whimper) before I worked on removing the garment. The erect cock that popped up in my face was better than I’d imagined for Feliks to have. I won’t go into details, but let’s just say that his European blood was put to good use, heh.

With my hand at the base of his length, I licked up the heated flesh and suckled wetly on the tip. This caused Feliks to groan loudly and arch his hips, trying to thrust in my mouth. I used one hand to hold his hips down and the other to hoist his trembling leg over my shoulder for better access. Then I started to bob my head.

“O-oh! Oh, God—A-Alfred!”

Smirking around him, I quickened my pace, trying to drive Feliks as close to the edge as possible.

“Shit, o-oh,  _fuck_! I can’t—I’m gonna…!”

Removing my mouth, I smirked up at an extremely aroused Feliks. “Easy there, beautiful,” I told him. “I’m not done yet.”

I reached inside my pocket and pulled out the lube and condom, and then kicked my pants and boxers off to the floor. After hooking Feliks’ legs around my waist, I squeezed the tube generously in my hand and rubbed both of my hands to warm up the lube. Then I looked down at Feliks, cupping him by the back of his neck, and began to prep him.

Whenever there are the rare times I actually top, as well as my sessions with women, I always like to watch my client’s reaction as I fuck them. I dunno why, but there’s just something about observing them that really gets me going. It also serves as a self-critique method. By watching how pleasured or uncomfortable a client is, I can always learn on how to improve.

So when Feliks cried out in pleasure as I brushed up against his prostate a couple of times, I was already about to burst.

Concluding that he’d been spread enough, I leaned close to Feliks’ face, our hot, shallow breaths mingling.

“Are you ready, baby?”

“Yes, like, OMFG,  _yes_ …!”

(…Hey, why are you glaring like that Lizzie?)

That was enough for me.

I deftly removed my fingers and rubbed them on the bed. After that, I ripped open the pack and slowly rolled the condom on. Then I squeezed out more lube and slicked myself up with one hand while the other hiked up Feliks’ dress up to his waist.

Clenching his legs tighter around me, Feliks wrapped his arms around my neck and didn’t close his eyes to my gaze until I entered him with a slow thrust. His hands trembled, his muscles tightened around me, and a few drops of moisture gathered in the corner of his eyes—but not in pain.

“So long…Fuck, it’s been too, too  _long._ ”

“I can tell,” I groaned in his ear, starting to thrust in and out. “Damn, Feliks, you feel so  _tight_ …so fucking good.”

—Which was only partially exaggerated, once again, for my clients’ benefit. Sure, it had obviously been a while for Feliks, but a lot of the other clients I’ve fucked like being told they’re “tight”, for some reason. I think it’s an ego thing, personally; they like to think that they’re still…fresh, I guess you can say.

But I tell them that anyway, even if they have the most “loose” hole on the block. It makes them feel better about themselves, and it sometimes results in a rather generous tip.

After hoisting one of his legs on my shoulder, I filled him again and Feliks let out high-pitched moan and dug his nails into my broad back.

“Yeah, there! Like, oh my God, do that again!”

Smirking smugly, I pounded against that sweet spot of his, knowing that poor Feliks wasn’t going to last long. It had been a while for him, and he still hadn’t had a chance to come when I had sucked him off. I almost felt sorry for him.

“You poor baby,” I crooned, pressing my mouth to his thigh. “You wanna come? Huh? Is that it?”

Feliks yelled out, nodding desperately, “Yes! I—Ah!”

With my hand now wrapped around his dick, stroking, and my mouth suckling and kissing his thigh, all I had to do was thrust like so, and then—

Hissing out a string of Polish curses, Feliks shuddered and arched his back, his face contorted with pleasure. Once he was done riding on the waves, he collapsed on the bed, his body practically boneless, and through his thick eyelashes, he watched me finish with just a few more thrusts.

After spending a few minutes of lying beside Feliks on the bed, I regained control of my breathing and opened my eyes. I quickly sat up and disposed of the condom, aware of Feliks watching my every move. When I lay back down and looked at him, he was wearing a sated smile.

“That was, like,  _totally_  amazing, Alfred,” he said, curling up near me.

“It was,” I said, once again, with partial exaggeration. It was good, no doubt—but there would be even better encounters with Feliks. Looking at the stain on his dress, I looked at him questioningly.

“Should I—?”

“Nah, it’s totally nothing, sweetie.” Feliks sat up and reached his arms up as he stretched his tired body. “So, this is the part when I pay you?”

I nodded. “You know the prices, right?”

“Yeah, Braginski explained them to me. Just hang on for a second.”

Feliks got up and walked out of the room for a few moments, and then he came back with a wide white envelope.

“Be sure to count it, just in case,” he said, handing me the money.

I opened the envelope and looked inside, my eyes immediately widening. Taking out the piles of cash (bound by a rubber band), I quickly counted the amount, feeling a grin spread across my face.

After putting the money back, I beamed at him and said, “Thanks, Feliks.”

Feliks laughed. “No, no, no—thank  _you_.”

Soon after that, I got dressed and went back to Ivan’s bar. The night was still young, and there were more clients to serve.

 

 

* * *

Alfred looked over at Elizabeth when he was done and was amused to see the crimson blush blooming on her face. She was grinning oddly and her eyes gleamed heatedly, which just helped to further prove the theory Alfred had been contemplating ever since the previous week.

 _These stories turn her on_ , he smirked.

When she realized his staring, Elizabeth blinked and turned her head, frowning. She coughed into her hand but was really trying to will the blood to stop flowing to her cheeks. It was not proper of her to react this way to a mere anecdote. Honestly.

“And…that’s all?” she asked, composed.

“Of that night? Yeah.” He nodded. “Feliks is still a client of mine, though. I could tell you more if you want.”

“N-no, that’s fine for tonight.” Elizabeth shook her head, looking down at the floor in thought. Her brow furrowed slightly and she opened her mouth, only to close it again. As her thoughts wandered, her cheeks flushed again.

Alfred tilted his head in a bemused fashion. “Somethin’ wrong, Lizzie?”

“Huh?” Elizabeth blinked, then looked away from him, frowning. “N-nothing at all. I’m just wondering…”

“Yeah?”

“…Is there something going on between you and Feliks?”

Much to her shock, Alfred burst out laughing. He bent over, hugging his stomach, as he let out a string of almost breathless guffaws. His face was flushing and his smile was bright like the sun, despite the meaning behind his laughter. For a moment, Elizabeth swore she even saw him glow and, despite herself, her heart couldn’t help but leap.

When he finally got his breathing under control, Alfred removed his glasses and wiped his eyes, giggling (very manly, by the way) slightly. He looked over at Elizabeth, noticed that she wasn’t laughing (actually, she looked sort of…dreamy?), and his eyes widened.

“Oh, shit. You’re  _serious_.”

Elizabeth frowned. “What? What did I say wrong?”

Alfred sighed and, replacing his glasses, regarded her seriously. “Okay, Lizzie, let me lay it to ya straight: I don’t get involved with my clients. At least not in that way.” He sat back, slouching, and crossed his arms. “I personally don’t believe in having any personal involvement with my clients. In fact, I think that there are a lot of things wrong with the concept, including how unrealistic it is.”

 _Still doesn’t stop Feliciano mooning over that German guy, though._ Alfred shook his head, his eyes dimming.  _But just look at how they’re working out…_

Something flashed in Elizabeth’s eyes, but it wasn’t anger.

“Really?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he replied. “Is it all right if I say something?”

“It’s what you’re paid to do.”

“Try to avoid the cliché when it comes to prostitute stories. It’s hard, I know, ‘cause everything’s been done. But don’t be afraid to try a different direction from the mainstream, even if it’s been done before.”

Elizabeth stared at Alfred, and then she got out her notebook and scrawled it down. She looked up at Alfred through her long eyelashes and nodded for him to continue.

“You should also come up with a system on how much your characters are getting paid. Can I borrow a piece of paper?” Alfred gestured at her notebook.

Automatically, Elizabeth corrected him. “It’s ‘May I borrow a piece of paper’.”

Alfred rolled his eyes. “May I borrow a piece of paper then?”

Elizabeth ripped off a few sheets of paper and handed them to him, along with her pen. Then she leaned forward over the coffee table to see what he would write.

“Okay, take me and the guys for example,” Alfred explained. “We’re paid one hundred and fifty dollars per session. Usually a session goes as long as fifteen minutes. But when we’re talking about the final payment at the end of our business, we multiply the one-fifty (along with any additional fees) by each session.”

Elizabeth blinked. She and math had never been friends. “…All right?”

Alfred caught the confusion in her eyes and smiled. “It’s not as complicated as it sounds. Think of every fifteen minutes in an hour as an interval. Knowing that, there are four intervals in an hour. If I were to spend an hour with a client, I’d have to multiply the one-fifty by four. That equals,” he paused, working at the equation with a speed that would have made a younger, frustrated Elizabeth envious, “six hundred dollars.”

“Oh,” she squeaked.

“And then I add up any additional fees to the total price,” he finished.

“…So, with Feliks, you made about,” Elizabeth paused, trying to do the math in her head.

“Twenty-five hundred.” Alfred nodded. “That includes the additional fees.”

Exhaling softly, Elizabeth sat back in her seat. “I have a feeling I’m underpaying you by a lot…”

“Well, to be fair, you’re not paying me to have sex. I’m only here to talk—and do whatever else you have planned for me,” he added with a seductive wink.

She blushed, glaring at him. “Don’t make that sound so…so…”

“Dirty?”

“Precisely!”

Alfred snickered at Elizabeth’s expense, even as her fists trembled at her sides, threatening to punch him.

“So, is that it for tonight?” he asked. “‘Cause I’ve got a ten o’clock that I can’t miss.”

 _More like that I’m too afraid to miss it_ , he thought with a shudder. That Natalia Arlovskaya was  _scary_ when she was angry—especially with that knife collection of hers…with some blades covered in small red dots that he was certain was  _not_  rust.

Alfred trembled mentally.  _Don’t think about it, Jones._

Still twitching, Elizabeth nodded and stiffly stood up, her nose high in the air. “I’ll show you to the door.”

Alfred smiled, very amused with her reaction, and jumped up to follow her to the door.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to do anything else?” he teased. “I could show you how I do things to my clients, like masturbating, for example—”

Elizabeth threw the door open and pointed outside, her glare and embarrassed blush worsening.

“Good  _night_ , Mr. Jones!”

He pouted (partially playful) at the formal name, but did as he was told.

“See ya tomorrow, Lizzie!” Alfred waved to her, beaming.

“Don’t call me Lizzie!” Elizabeth screeched before practically slamming her door closed. Even so, she felt she could still hear his laughter from the other side. Honestly, was it even normal for someone to smile and laugh so much?

 _And I have to spend another hour or so with the git tomorrow_ , she bemoaned to herself, lightly hitting her forehead against the door.  _I’ll probably need to consume a bottle of aspirin by the end of the month._

Despite her irritation, Elizabeth’s thoughts couldn’t help but wander back to Alfred’s tale involving Feliks. The way he told the story, how his voice smoothed over like a narrative, almost seductively; and, of course, the sex. Elizabeth turned red, recalling the details of the sex. It was definitely much better than the tale of Mr. Thompson, that was for sure.

She cleared her throat and rubbed her hot cheeks to stop the embarrassing blood flow there. It was time to focus on her book. What Alfred said before, about the cliché romance of a prostitute and his or her client, made a lot of sense. And since he’d probably encountered many people with this fantasy, Alfred was probably more than a little annoyed with it.

Though the direction Elizabeth was going for had been similar, she was now contemplating another way for the story to be told.

… _What if they were both—?_ Her eyes brightened with an idea, causing her to smile.  _Oh, that’s brilliant!_

Elizabeth immediately rushed to her laptop and began to type furiously onto the Word document. Good ideas were often fleeting; if one waited, then it would be lost to time.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Once upon a time, in a corner of livejournal called the Hetalia Kink Meme, an anon posted this lovely little prompt:
> 
> US is a bisexual male prostitute who is hired by a very prim Fem!UK. But it turns out that she writes gay porn, and is JUST doing research. 
> 
> So begins the long nights of UST in which fem!UK reads out loud passages and asks for corrections, US stripping and fem!UK taking notes, US masturbating in front of her, her bringing in sex toys and asking him to demonstrate how he would use them (on others) etc. 
> 
> Then she gets a bit more hands on, starting with giving US a blow job/hand job and graduating to her wearing male clothes and US penetrating her anally, “just to see how it would feel” (because UK is SUCH the closet pervert XD)
> 
> And of course they fall in love and … happy ending please?
> 
> Bonus 1: The BTT are also prostitutes and approach fem!UK, but she shoos them away because she wants someone with an “American accent”
> 
> Bonus 2: Fem!UK thinks (for some reason) that US is gay, and that is why she doesn’t confess her feelings 
> 
> Bonus 3: They have vaginal sex after they figure out their feelings and it turns out that fem!UK is a virgin~
> 
>  
> 
> Of course, me being the brave writer I am (lol nope), I decided to take up the challenge.
> 
> One can argue that I have failed, since my last update was about two years ago. Though no proper excuse can be given, I will say that many things have happened since then. Such as me getting a boyfriend, actually experiencing a relationship, and experiencing sex. But I believe these experiences will help make the story a little richer.
> 
> I will finish this story, God damn it. Even if it makes my brain explode.


End file.
